The Sound of the Sea
by ElouiseBates
Summary: The war is over, and the next phase of Meg Blythe's life is about to begin. Join her as she experiences the joys and tribulations of a young bride in a new place, making new friends and even a few foes along the way.
1. Chapter 1

_The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep_

_And round the pebbly beaches far and wide_

_I heard the first wave of the rising tide_

_Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;_

_A voice out of the silence of the deep,_

_A sound mysteriously multiplied_

_As of a cataract from the mountain's side,_

_Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep._

_So comes to us from times, from the unknown_

_And inaccessible solitudes of being,_

_The rushing sea-tides of the soul;_

_And inspirations, that we deem our own,_

_Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing_

_Of things beyond our reason or control._

_-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

* * *

_

Meg Blythe opened her eyes with a smile. It was September 1945—the war was over, for good and for all, now that the Japanese had finally surrendered—her cousins were coming home soon—and her fiancé was coming by to see her that very morning. Who would not smile? The only thing that would make this—this entire time in her life, in fact—better would be if her twin brother Matt were coming home as well. He, however, had transferred out of the RCAF to serve with the Yankees' occupation force in Japan.

_It's bad over here, Meg,_ he wrote. _A few years ago, seeing devastation like this would have sent me far, far away. Now, though, I feel some responsibility toward these poor people, and if I can stay and help, then I will._

_ Besides, I like fixing airplanes, and I get along well enough with the Yankees. A few more years away from home won't hurt me._

Meg missed him still, but at least he should be home before she was married. Will would be leaving for seminary in the States soon, and they couldn't be married until he was graduated and ordained as a minister—and hopefully had a church, as well!

Meg sprang out of bed. She couldn't wait a moment longer to start her day. Will was coming for breakfast, but she wanted to see him now. He was just over at Tanglewood, and she knew he would be awake as well. They shared a love for the dawn, among so many other things.

Many women would have worn their nicest frocks to meet their fiancé, but Meg never even thought of that. She pulled on an old rose-colored skirt that she'd had for six years and a lightweight cream sweater that Auntie Di had knit for her last Christmas (Auntie Di was _not_ noted for her knitting skills).

She didn't even bother with shoes or socks, but flitted lightly down the stairs to the kitchen, where her father was just coming in from the barn, where he'd been milking cows.

"You're up early," Shirley Blythe observed, smiling at his daughter. Meg looked remarkably like a little girl again, with her unbrushed curls bouncing wildly about her shoulders and her brown eyes dancing with excitement.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "I thought I'd run over to Tanglewood and see Will."

Shirley sighed and smiled again. He had the deepest respect for Will Ashton, but there were times when he almost hated him for winning Meg's heart. "Well, before you go, there's a letter for you from Boston that came yesterday while you and Polly were sewing. I forgot about it until now."

"Rose!" Meg exclaimed gleefully, pouncing on the envelope.

The scented note was not from Rose Greye (soon to be Rose Templestowe), however. Some of the joy dimmed from Meg's face as she read it.

"What is it?" Shirley asked.

Meg looked up and tried to smile, stuffing the note carelessly into her skirt pocket. "Nothing," she said brightly. "I'll be back in time to make breakfast, Papa."

She kissed his cheek and ran outside, practically dancing across the cold dew-wet grass on her bare toes. Shirley blinked unwanted tears away and sternly told himself not to be a fool. He knew he couldn't keep his little Meggie forever; he was just glad to have another three years with her. He was thankful she was marrying a man of such good character.

Somehow, it didn't make him feel much better.

* * *

Meg, however had different concerns at the moment, but they vanished away when she saw a familiar curly head atop a lithe body perched on the old fence halfway between Green Gables and Tanglewood. The young man was dressed in ancient trousers and an equally old jersey, with the left sleeve pinned up around his missing arm, but to Meggie's eyes he was as handsome as any storybook hero.

"Good morning," she said, with a voice like birdsong.

Will pretended to look at her in astonishment. "Goodness!" he exclaimed. "Have I been enchanted? For whom do I see before me but a fairy maiden?"

Meg laughed. "If I am a fairy maiden, then you must be the prince who has won my heart and lured me to the mortal world."

Will hopped down from the silver-bleached fence and kissed her cheek. "I'm the luckiest man in the world, I am."

"I thought you ministers weren't supposed to talk of luck?" Meg said mischievously.

"I'm not a minister yet," he reminded her with dancing blue eyes.

"Well then, that makes it perfectly all right," Meg retorted sarcastically.

Will simply laughed again. "Come, walk with me," he said, holding out his right hand. "I need to talk to you about something."

Meg slid her hand into his, sensing again that warm astonishment of how _right_ it felt, and they strolled down Anne Shirley's old Lover's Lane together.

"I had a letter from Grandmother Thornton yesterday," Will began.

"Oh." Mrs. Thornton was Will's grandmother in England, and from all Meg had heard, was a very determined, opinionated woman. "What did she say about our engagement?"

Will's face was a comical blend of chagrin and amusement. "She says that she's going to be sailing here on the very next boat to give her approval … and unsaid, her disapproval if she doesn't like you."

"Oh no!" Meg began to giggle.

"What is the joke? I wish you'd let me in on it, because I'm getting a nasty creeping feeling up my spine every time I think about Grandmother Thornton meeting your Aunt Di."

Meg tried to compose herself. "It's not funny, I know, but _I_ had a letter from Grandmamma Irving this morning, saying that _she's_ going to be coming from Boston to give her opinion of you!"

Will stopped short. His jaw dropped. "Heavens!" he cried. "Our grandmothers are going to meet and clash, and Avonlea itself will vanish in the aftermath."

"What can we do?" Meg shrugged helplessly. "I've never met your Grandmother Thornton, but if she is anything like my Grandmamma Irving, there is no point in asking—or even telling—her to not come."

Will's face hardened into utter determination. "There is one thing we can do … something I thought of as soon as I received Grandmother's letter. I was hesitant to mention so drastic a step earlier, but now that I hear about _your_ grandmother as well, I think it might be our best choice."

"What is it?" Meg asked.

"Will you marry me now—this week?"

Meg caught her breath. "Are you serious?"

Will turned his body so he was facing her directly. "Absolutely. I hadn't told you this before, but your Uncle Bruce wrote to me last week, telling me about a little church in Grey Harbour which needs a parson. It's a tiny little fishing village, barely able to support a full-time minister, but he said it would be a good chance for me to learn how to minister. I was going to write back and decline the position because I didn't want to put off seminary, and our wedding."

"What are you thinking?" Meg asked, her head whirling. Had Will really just suggested that they get married this very week? She hadn't even started preparing for a wedding—she thought she still had three years!

"If I take the position, we could get married now. They have a little house that comes with the church—a manse, or vicarage, or parsonage, or whatever you call it depending on your denomination. The Grey Harbour church isn't any denomination, apparently … the village is too small to support more than one. It won't bring in much, but we can scrape by. If we're already married by the time our grandmothers arrive, they won't be able to interfere with anything or spoil the sweetness of our love."

Meg's thoughts started to settle. "What about seminary?"

Will shrugged. "It can wait. Rev. Meredith thinks it would be good for me to get some practical experience first, anyway. He says too many people come out of seminary chock-full of doctrine and theology, and completely clueless regarding practicing Christ's love."

"Will," Meg caught his hand, very serious. "I know how much seminary means to you. If we get married now and you take that church, you won't be able to save up like you would if you were single. The reason we were waiting to be married, instead of getting married before seminary, was so that you _could_ save."

"Margaret." Now it was Will's turn to be quite serious. "I love you. I want to be married to you. I do not want either of our families coming between us and casting shadows on our joy. If marrying now means that we have to put seminary off for a few more years, well, I'm willing to make that sacrifice.

"The question is, are you ready to sacrifice Green Gables three years earlier than planned?"

Meg reflected. When she was a girl, she had thought that nothing could ever take her away from Green Gables and Papa. She had loved her simple, quiet life there more than anything else, and couldn't imagine anyone even tempting her away. She was sure that no man could ever be worth leaving her beloved home.

Then she met Will. He was the most caring and generous man she had ever known. Never, in the six years she had known him, had he ever put his own wants ahead of other people's. Even now, he was willing to put his dream off for the sake of their relationship. How could she do less?

She looked into his eyes with a face full of trust and love.

"Yes," she said. "I will marry you, Will Ashton. Tomorrow, if need be."

His boyish grin broke over his face. "I don't think we need to be that rushed. Saturday—a week from today—ought to be sufficient."

A sudden thought crossed Meg's mind. "Oh, dear!" she cried. "How will we ever break it to Papa?"

Will, brave soul that he was, paled at the thought. "Oh dear is right. _And_ the rest of your family?"

Meg couldn't help but laugh at his obvious distress. "Don't worry," she said. "We'll talk them round."

* * *

The gathered members of Meg's family stared at the young couple in dismay.

"This week?" Auntie Di said. "How are we supposed to get a wedding together in one week?"

"It won't be a wedding, not a real one," Meg assured her. "Grandmamma would be terribly hurt if we had a wedding without her and Grandfather. We'll just have you and Uncle Patrick and Polly, and Jocelyn and Peter (and Evie, of course), for our family, and Will's Uncle Kip. Will's going to ask Uncle Bruce to perform the ceremony, and it will all be very small and low-key."

"What about your dress?" Polly asked. "One week is not enough time to make a wedding dress!"

Meg had even thought about that. "I thought," with a hesitant glance at her silent father, "I thought I might wear Mama's wedding dress. It will need to be altered, of course, but that's easier to do than make one from scratch."

"And a wedding cake? You have to have a cake," Polly insisted. "And—oh, dear! I was to be your maid of honour! I suppose you won't have one now, if it's not a real wedding."

"I'm afraid not," Meg said apologetically.

Peter, Meg's supporter through thick and thin, clapped Polly's shoulder. "Cheer up, sis. Lily and Freddie are going to be married next year, and you know Lily will want you for maid of honour."

"I'll make the cake, if you like," his wife Jocelyn volunteered, shifting little Evie in her arms. "I have a marvellous old recipe that's been passed down for hundreds of generations in the Reed family."

"I'll provide the music," Uncle Patrick said, getting into the spirit of things. "Even if it's not a _real_ wedding, you still have to have music."

"Count me in," Auntie Di said decisively, making up her mind all at once. "I was forced into a huge wedding, when all I wanted was to slip away and marry quietly. All my memories from that time are horrid. I won't let anyone do that to you two."

Polly looked around, saw that general opinion was against her, and gave in. "Very well," she sighed. "Meg, I'll help with the sewing."

Meg looked at her father. Shirley hadn't said a word ever since she and Will had rushed in and blurted out their plan. She was suddenly very afraid of hurting him.

As though he sensed her stare, he lifted his bent head. Though unshed tears glistened in his eyes, he smiled at her. "Very well," he said.

Meg let out an enormous sigh of relief. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Shirley, nearly strangling him with her hug. Will came forward as well and pumped Shirley's hand.

"Thank you, sir," he said fervently. "I'll take good care of her, I promise."

"I know," Shirley told him.

The planning picked up again and swirled around Shirley. He watched his daughter as she held Will's hand, her glowing eyes turned up trustingly to him, a little smile constantly on her lips. He knew he couldn't hold her back, nor stand in the way of her happiness.

He understood a bit better now, though, the sacrifice Paul and Rachel Irving had made when he and Cecily wanted to marry so quickly.

Oh, how he wished she was still here.

"_Cecily_," he whispered to himself, before getting up and hurrying outside.

Meg's loving eyes followed her father's unobtrusive departure. With a whispered word to Will, she slipped away after him.

"Papa?" she said hesitantly, seeing his bent back. When he swung around to face her, she was shocked at how much older he suddenly looked. The lines in his face were deeper, and the grey hair tickling his temples seemed more noticeable than before.

Meg couldn't stand to think of Papa alone—growing old—lonely for her—without anyone around to bring him comfort. She broke into a small sob.

"Oh Papa—I won't go. I can't do it. I'll tell Will—he'll understand."

Then her father's arms were around her, strong and comforting, as though she was a little girl again, and he her protector and hero.

"Hush now, Meggie-love," he soothed. "Don't you worry about me. I'll be just fine. It's just going to take some getting used to, this thought of you leaving in a week. I thought I had two more years with my girl."

Meg rested her head on his shoulder, unconvinced. "But I can't leave you all alone."

Shirley chuckled peacefully. "Now then, do you really think I'll be alone? Di will want me over for dinner every day, Peter and Jocelyn and Evie will be popping in and out to keep me young, and Matt will be back in a few years." He smoothed the hair back from her forehead with a firm yet gentle hand. "For a crusty old hermit like me, I'll have more company than I know what to do with."

Meg couldn't help but laugh. Her father's dislike of large crowds was legendary. "Are you sure?" she asked him, brown eyes meeting brown eyes in a penetrating gaze. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

Shirley tightened his arms around her. "Meg, what I want more than anything in this world is for you—and your brother—to be happy. I could not be content, knowing you gave up love just for me. Go. Marry your Will. All I ask is that you keep one corner of your new house for your old father to come visit whenever he has a mind to."

Meg beamed, her last fear dissolved like air. "The very _best_ corner for you, Papa."

She went back inside with a light heart, passing Will on his way out. He too stopped before Shirley with a hesitant look in his eyes.

"Mr. Blythe …" he began hesitantly.

Shirley shook his head. "Don't say it, Will. I know this isn't the way you planned it."

Will opened his mouth, closed it again, and made up his mind. "Thank you, sir," he said humbly.

"Just take good care of her," Shirley told him.

"I will," the young man promised.

Shirley smiled. He could not have given his Meg away to anyone who loved her less—or whom she loved less. To Will, though, he could entrust even his most precious possession.

"Oh, Will," he called, as the other started back inside.

Will turned. "Sir?"

"Now that we're going to be related, do you think you could drop the 'sir'? It makes me feel awfully old."

Will's eyes twinkled. "Then what shall I call you?"

Shirley eyed him. "How about 'Dad'? Or Pop, as Matt calls me."

Will nodded once. "I think I can do that—Dad."

Shirley watched him hurry back inside to his Meg. He reminded himself that he was not losing a daughter: he was gaining a son. His eyes twinkled whimsically.

"From two children to three in one week. When will Matt spring a bride on me?"

He mounted the steps and joined the crew inside, to assist his daughter and new son in planning their wedding day.


	2. Chapter 2

Meg and Will's wedding day did not dawn, as they had hoped, bright and fair. Instead, it was cold and rainy, with a nasty fog creeping off the shore to curl around everything in clammy tendrils.

"Oh dear," sighed Polly, arriving at Green Gables before breakfast. "I had so hoped it would be nice."

Meg, still in her robe (and barefoot, of course), smiled brightly. "It is a nice day, Polly you goose," she laughed. "Today I am marrying my Will! How could it get better?"

But Polly, as befitted one who had loved and lost and put romance behind her, only sighed and shook her head.

"I'm afraid you'll be awfully cold in your dress."

Meg bent down and kissed her cousin's pale cheek. "Polly, love," she said quite seriously. "Do try to cheer up, for my sake. Won't you, please?"

As did everyone who met it, Polly thawed before that sweet smile. "At least," she said more optimistically, "We aren't having any guests. Imagine trying to crowd our entire clan plus friends into Tanglewood's parlour!"

"At least we wouldn't have to worry about getting cold," Meg said mischievously.

Shirley came into the kitchen from the barn. "Jocelyn and Evie are coming up the front walk," he said, heading for the sink to wash his hands. "I take it the final preparations are about to begin?"

Thankfully, there weren't many preparations left. The previous week had been spent in a flurry of activity. Will had to call Uncle Bruce and accept the church position, which then led to him spending the next four days telephoning back and forth between the Grey Harbour elders and Tanglewood to arrange everything.

Then, of course, they had to write to their grandmothers that the wedding was happening early, and to suggest that they cancel their travel plans. Grandmother Thornton had telegraphed Will (he angrily tore it up before Meg could read it, and refused to tell her what it said), and Grandmamma Irving had called Green Gables in a fury.

"Joanna Margaret!" she said as soon as Meg said hello. "What is this I hear about you marrying that Ashton boy now, instead of waiting for family approval?"

Meg patiently explained that circumstances were such that they needed to marry now instead of waiting.

"I refuse to give my blessing," Grandmamma said. "Do you hear me? I utterly refuse! It's bad enough that you turned Graham Giraud, who had wealth and good breeding and was handsome to boot, down for this Ashton boy, but to marry in such a rush is unbecoming and ill-advised. What will people say?"

"I don't care what people say," Meg responded spiritedly. "I only care about Will."

Grandmamma's sniff lost none of its incredulity through the line.

"It's bad enough your cousin married that Douglas fellow in such a rush during the war," she started.

Meg interrupted, a dangerous light coming into her eyes, which, unfortunately, Rachel Irving could not see. "Grandmamma," she said with deadly politeness, "Kindly do not say anything against Polly or Elliot. They are my family and I love them."

"Humph! I can see this Ashton fellow has already lowered you. You _used_ to know how to speak to your elders."

Meg stood biting her lip in order to keep the angry words back.

Grandmamma was just beginning again, when Shirley, who had just entered the room and took in what was happening in a glance, strode over and took the receiver from Meg's hand.

"Rachel?"

"Shirley? Shirley, how dare you let your daughter marry so quickly! Don't you know what people will think? Besides, we know nothing about this boy's background, his parents or his relatives or anything"—

"Rachel," Shirley said firmly. "Meg is twenty years old. She is old enough to make up her own mind. I'm sorry you are not pleased, but this is the way it is going to be. Goodbye."

Without giving her a chance to respond, he hung up the phone.

"Oh, Papa!" Meg cried, half amused and half horrified.

Shirley grinned unrepentantly. "I've been wanting to hang up on your grandmother for years." He kissed the top of her head. "Thank you for giving me an excuse."

He walked off, whistling a jaunty tune, and Meg philosophically went back to her sewing.

Cecily's wedding dress was a simple grey silk slip, far too small for Meg, even if the style had not been so dated. Thankfully, Polly was amazing with a needle and scissors, and between the three girls they managed to turn it into a lovely skirt and charming little bolero jacket. Jocelyn insisted on giving Meg the white silk blouse she had worn for her wedding (which, thankfully, only needed minor alterations), and Auntie Di added her contribution by buying Meg a white hat with a charming little veil.

"I feel so grown-up," Meg sighed, looking at the elegant suit after they had finished.

Polly sighed, too. "I always imagined you in a stunning white satin gown," she said, flexing her stiff fingers. "With a long train, and pink roses in your hair."

Meg laughed. "I'd feel like a fool in something that fancy. Besides, even though the war is over, my conscience wouldn't allow me to waste money on that kind of extravagance."

"Quite right, too," Jocelyn said briskly, admiring their handiwork. "This is simple yet elegant, and practical, too. I think you'll look wonderful, Meg darling."

"Tell me about Grey Harbour," Jane added.

Jane Stuart (now Samuels) was an essential part of their family. She had married Bran during the war, and both she and Jocelyn came to Canada when they found out they were pregnant. Though Bran was still overseas (Peter had been wounded slightly during some of the fighting over the Pacific and therefore beat his brother home), Jane was living with her parents at Lantern Hill and came over for nearly every family affair.

"Well, it's all the way up at the north-western tip of the Island," Meg said. "It's very small, and very poor, and the old minister just passed away."

"So far away, though!" Jane said. "It's bad enough you getting married three years early, but to have you move so far away, too."

"In some ways I think it's best," Meg said loyally. "If I lived closer I'd be tempted to 'run home' every day for something or other. This way forces us to rely on each other, and the people of Grey Harbour."

"Besides, it's nice to have a nest of ones own," Joss added, prying the measuring tape our of Evie's inquisitive fingers. "I know adjusting to married life would be much harder for Peter and me if we weren't in Echo Lodge."

"Speaking of which, have you and Bran settled where you will live once he returns?" Meg asked, changing back into her dungarees and collared shirt.

Jane started to laugh. "Would you believe it—Peter and Joss are here on the Island, and Bran and I are likely going to move back to England!"

"No!" the other three chorused.

Jane nodded serenely. "Bran has decided he wants to be a doctor like his grandfather and uncle, and he said he'd rather go to school over there than anything here in Canada. So once he's out of the RAF, Lewis and I will likely be heading over there instead of him coming home."

"How do your parents feel about that?" Polly asked, sounding disappointed. Polly and Joss rubbed each other the wrong way, but Jane got along well with both girls, and Polly was not looking forward to having to say goodbye to her favourite sister-in-law.

"I haven't told them yet," Jane confessed. "They'll be terribly upset, I know, but they'll come 'round in time. I hope."

"And Lily will be living in England too," Polly sighed. Lily Blythe, while working as a VAD in England, had met Freddie Mercer, (Earl of Whitmore), friend to Peter and Bran, and Joss's former fiancé. The two had fallen in love, and Lily was soon to become Lady Cecilia Mercer, Countess of Whitmore. "Oh dear!"

"Perhaps Elliot will want to settle there too, when he returns," Joss suggested.

"I doubt it," Polly said. "His mother wants us to live in the Glen."

"What does Elliot want?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "We haven't really talked about it."

Meg hoped that once Elliot and Polly were living together instead of communicating through letters, that they would learn to love each other. Happier than she ever could have imagined being, she thought a loveless marriage sounded like the worst possible thing anyone could endure.

* * *

That had all been earlier in the week, and now Meg stood before her mirror and gave her hat one final adjustment before leaving her beloved room. This room had seen the hopes and dreams of so many girls before her; she was glad she could add her own joys and sorrows to its sum. She didn't know who would possess this little room next—Matt's daughter, if ever he got married, most likely—but she took a moment to bestow a quick prayer on that girl, that she would live a life of dreams and joy, just as so many others had, right back to Grandmother Blythe.

Shirley met her outside her bedroom door. He looked at his daughter, this little girl become woman, with his heart in his eyes. Shimmering in her grey silk, with her brown eyes frosted by her veil and her chestnut curls rolled elegantly back from her face, she was still his Meggie. A combination of his quiet practicality and Cecily's sweet dreaminess; _his_ brown eyes in _her_ piquant face; and yet she was all her own person.

And she was about to give her heart to another man, his Meggie no longer.

As though she read his thoughts, Meg gave him a hug, never minding that she was crumpling her silk. "Don't worry, Papa," she whispered. "I'll always be your little girl. I'm not leaving you for Will—you just have to share me now, that's all."

"I hope he knows how lucky he is," Shirley muttered.

"He does." Meg pulled back and winked cheekily. "I remind him every day." Then her smile dimmed. "Oh Papa, I wish Matt could be here. It just doesn't seem right without him."

"He'd be here if he could," Shirley comforted.

"I know," Meg said. She slipped her hand into his. "Shall we go, then?"

They walked downstairs and out the door, down the path to Tanglewood. Auntie Di had offered to let Meg prepare there at the house, but Meg wanted to spend the last moments of her maidenhood at Green Gables.

She twisted to look back at it just before they rounded the corner. It stood there in the chill light, looking as homey and comfortable as ever. Meg blinked back sudden tears. She loved Will—she had no regrets about marrying him—but oh, she loved this place so!

"Goodbye, dearest Green Gables," she whispered, before turning the corner and going to meet her bridegroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Meg and Will had decided not to have Shirley "give her away"—Will declared that was treating Meg too much like a piece of goods in a business transaction. Instead, Will met them at Tanglewood's front door, shook Shirley's hand, and gently took Meg's left hand in his right.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, her heart too full for words.

Hand-in-hand they walked into the parlour, where a small group of family and friends was gathered. Uncle Bruce stood in front of the fireplace, black book in hand. As Meg and Will approached him, he smiled, looked out at the assembly, and said in his sonorous voice:

"Let us pray."

The rest of the ceremony passed like a blur to Meg. She remembered bits and pieces of it—Uncle Bruce speaking of the "solemn joy" to be found in marriage; Will's quiet voice underlit with gladness as he spoke his vows; her own voice sounding remarkably steady as she repeated them back … omitting "obey," as Will had requested ("I don't care if it is tradition; my wife is not my servant"); Auntie Di's grey-green eyes filled with tears as she snuggled Evie in her arms; Peter's shining head standing out above the rest, and the pleased look on his face; Will putting the simple gold band on her left hand, and then her putting his on his right hand; Uncle Bruce prayed again, and then it was over.

She was Mrs. Will Ashton—Meg _Blythe_ no longer!

Auntie Di, Polly, and Joss had a light luncheon prepared for everyone afterward. Meg had thought she wouldn't be able to eat a thing, but she discovered that she was ravenous.

"Where are you going for your honeymoon?" Aunt Betsy asked. She had come along with Uncle Bruce, and Meg was glad of it. Her youthful aunt and uncle were long-time chums of hers and Matt's.

"Well, Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken offered us the House of Dreams, and Joss and Peter offered Echo Lodge, and Jane said we could stay at Lantern Hill …" Meg counted off.

"But in the end, we decided to go someplace where we know nobody and nobody knows us," Will finished. "So Uncle Kip found us a little cottage on Cape Breton. Since it's out of season we were able to get it cheap."

"And we won't have any tourists around bothering us!" Meg said with a laugh.

"Normally they don't rent to people after the third week of August," Uncle Kip said, "But I happen to know the owner, and since he wouldn't have graduated college without me tutoring him in math, I was able to convince him to do my nephew and new niece a favour." He smiled fondly at the young couple. He loved Will like the son he'd never had, and his dearest wish since the first time he'd met Meg was that she and Will would end up together.

As for Meg, she rather hoped that soon she would be able to call her former professor "Uncle" on another side, too. He and Una Meredith were courting—had been, casually, for several years now. Most members of the family believed that nothing would ever come of it, but Meg very much wanted to see those two lonely people find happiness together.

She laughed at herself—now that she had her Will, she was turning into as hopeless a matchmaker as Grandmother!

With the luncheon finished, Meg and Will prepared to leave. Uncle Patrick was driving them to the station, but they had to say their goodbyes to everyone else there at Tanglewood. For a few moments, all was chaos as Meg was embraced by a flurry of arms and felt several tear-wet cheeks pressed against her own. She escaped to the car, where she paused a moment and looked back at her most beloved family.

Auntie Di, still tall and straight, her red hair frosted over with silver, her face still warm with laughter and love. Petite, dainty Polly and her little Davie, waving for all they were worth. Peter, Joss, and Evie, a happy little family. Jane and Lewis, gallant souls awaiting Bran's return. Dark, grim-appearing, kind-hearted Uncle Bruce and merry Aunt Betsy, and their Little Gabe, already tall and sturdy at age seven. Uncle Kip, handsome and distinguished and beaming with pride in his nephew.

Finally, Shirley Blythe, the quiet "little brown boy" of the Blythe family annals, now feeling twice as old as he truly was as his baby girl prepared to leave with her new husband. Meg smiled lovingly into his eyes, and he smiled back, knowing that no matter what, she was still his girl.

Will helped Meg into the car, and they drove away, waving frantically as they went.

"Goodbye!" Meg's called, her high, clear voice floating on the wind. "Goodbye—I love you all!"

And they were gone.

* * *

Meg and Will had a beautiful honeymoon. They fell thoroughly in love with the rustic little cottage overlooking the blue, blue Gulf of St. Lawrence. They slept in every morning, and then Will got up and made breakfast for Meg to eat in bed.

"I'm not an invalid, Mr. Ashton," she teased him.

"Don't worry; I'll expect _you_ to serve _me_ breakfast in bed every morning for the rest of our lives to make up for it, Mrs. Ashton," he teased right back.

After breakfast they would wander outside and explore the nearby Cabot Trail, watching for whales and eagles and talking over their hopes and dreams for the future.

"I want to do good work in Grey Harbour," Will said seriously. "Even if it is only a temporary position, I don't want them to feel like it's temporary. I want to give them my all, just as if I was going to be there for the next fifty years."

"Oh, yes," Meg agreed with glowing eyes. "And I want to be like Aunt Betsy. She didn't just host Ladies Aid meetings and teach Sunday School; she really got involved in people's lives and helped them better themselves."

"So many ministers seem to think that as long as they preach a sermon every Sunday, and marry and bury the people of their congregation, they've done enough. I don't want to be like that, not now, and not ever. The Lord washed His disciples' feet; surely I can get my hands—hand—dirty living out a practical love."

"Oh Will," Meg breathed. "I know we're going to accomplish marvellous things in the next few years. And then, someday, we'll have saved up enough money for you to attend seminary, and after that, who knows where we'll go?"

"As long as we go together, I don't care where it is," Will smiled.

In the evenings, they sat on their little porch and watched the sun set over the Gulf. The porch had several chairs available, but Meg usually eschewed them in favour of Will's lap—an arrangement he seemed to appreciate.

It was a glorious time, full of hopes and dreams, idealistic plans that might fade away with the dawning of a new day, but which served their purpose for the moment. Meg knew that Grandmother and Granddad Blythe had spent their honeymoon at their own little House of Dreams, but she was glad to have this time set aside for dreaming. There would be time enough to put their nest in order later.

The weather indulged them, too. It was just cool enough in the mornings and evenings for them to snuggle together with a blanket and drink hot cocoa (Auntie Di had sent a large basket of tea with them, but Meg was finally able to confess that she hated tea—she'd always been afraid of hurting Auntie Di's feelings before) and eat hot buttered toast. The days, however, were glorious and golden; the sky was that ripe shade of blue that is only seen in autumn.

"I always thought spring was my favourite time of year," Meg said, standing along the rocky shoreline with the wind ruffling her curls. "Everything blossoming and growing, the season of new beginnings. Now, though, I'm starting to think it's autumn that I love best."

Will came close and kissed her hair. "Autumn will always seem like spring to me, because it is when our life together began."

"Why Mr. Ashton, I do believe that was poetic."

"Even an ordinary fellow like me has his moments, Mrs. Ashton. And have I mentioned how fetching you make dungarees and old sweaters look?"

"You have," Meg informed him with an indulgent grin, "but I never mind hearing it again."

All too soon, the week was over, and they were packing their bags to leave ("Shall we leave the tea here for the next visitors?" Will asked). Meg spared one regretful sigh as their boat sped away toward the mainland, leaving their haven behind.

Then she turned her thoughts to the future. Tomorrow, their real life began. While she was slightly nervous about everything that being a minister's wife entailed, she was mostly excited.

After all, with Will by her side, nothing could ever be too terribly difficult, could it?


	4. Chapter 4

"This … is it," Will said slowly as he helped Meg from the hired car that had driven them the twenty miles from the station.

Meg bit her lip. "Oh."

The house was tiny and—no other word for it—_ugly_. The outside was covered in wooden fusses and frills meant for much larger, grander homes, and which only served to emphasize the smallness of this place. The windows were dirty; the steps were sagging; several shingles were missing off the roof.

What struck the eye immediately, however, above all else, was the colour. It was painted a bright pink, the exact shade of Mrs. Andrews' hideous zinnias that flaunted themselves from her garden every year and quite overwhelmed the more delicate flowers.

"Well," Meg said bravely. "Maybe the _inside_ will be nice."

It wasn't. The rooms were dark and dirty, the floors uneven, the walls covered in garish paper with a thin patina of grime barely obscuring the bright designs. The kitchen and pantry—well, it was a mercy Susan Baker wasn't alive to see the daughter of her little brown boy living in such a place. The two bedrooms were equally small and dark; Meg chose one as the guest room and one as the master bedroom simply by closing her eyes and pointing.

"At least there's a garden," Will said hopefully. He had lived at Tanglewood and visited Green Gables daily; he knew how different this was from Meg's home life.

"Oh where?" Meg cried with a brightening face. She had always preferred outdoors to in, anyway, and if this place had a nice garden she could live with the house.

Will cautiously led the way down the narrow staircase, reflecting that a fellow in a hurry could break his neck on the steps. Meg followed him out the back door into a pocket-handkerchief-sized yard overgrown with burdocks, with a tiny patch of weedy vegetable garden in one corner.

He took one look at her disappointed face and felt like a wretch for bringing her to live in such a—a _hovel._

"I'm sorry, love," he said miserably.

Meg instantly manufactured a smile and kissed his cheek. "Nonsense. The place doesn't matter as long as we're together. I said I would live in a shack if necessary, and this is certainly better than that. We have a roof over our heads and food to eat. How many people in Europe can say the same today?"

Will kissed her, thinking he had married the sweetest woman in the world. "We'll make it better, I promise. I'm no good for any repairs around the place, but I'm sure there are plenty of people in the village proper who would be willing to help out their minister. Besides, it's only temporary."

"Exactly," Meg said. She looked at their trunks and suitcases sitting by the front gate and rolled up her sleeves. "Before we start unpacking, though, I'm going to have to clean. Will, can you find me a broom, mop, bucket for hot water, and some good strong soap?"

"Your servant, Mrs. Ashton," he said with a sweeping bow.

* * *

It was close to midnight before Meg finally fell into bed, so exhausted that she was asleep almost immediately. Her last coherent thought was gratitude that the house was so small … if it was any larger, she would have to spend a week cleaning it before it would be fit for human habitation. As it was, the next day would likely be enough to complete the cleaning, and then they could unpack, settle, and start to make it more of a home.

After all, it wasn't the building that made a place _home_, it was the hearts of those who lived within.

Will hung around the house for a couple of hours the next morning, eager to assist, until Meg finally shooed him away with a wave of her dustcloth.

"I know you mean well, love, but you don't know the first thing about scrubbing and sweeping," she told him laughingly. "Go, you haven't even had a chance to visit the church yet, or meet any of your—our—parishioners. I promise, I won't do anything but clean. The settling in can wait for this evening."

"As long as you're sure," Will said, admiring the way her hair curled in soft tendrils around her damp temples.

"If you keep looking at me like that, William, we will never get anything done," Meg said saucily.

Will bent low and kissed the top of her head where she knelt by the kitchen cupboards. "I'll go, then—on one condition. Never call me William again. That's what Grandmother Thornton always calls me, and I loathe it."

"Well, I certainly don't want to be classed with Grandmother Thornton!" Meg said. "Now _go_."

"I'm going," Will said—and went.

Freed from his distracting presence, Meg was able to finish up the scrubbing in good season. By the time he returned, the little house was sparklingly clean. It was still hideous, but at least it was now a _clean_ ugly. Anne Blythe—herself trained by Marilla Cuthbert—and Susan Baker between them had trained Auntie Di well in the art of housekeeping, and she had passed everything she knew along to Meg.

"You've worked wonders, darling," Will said in admiration.

"Were you able to meet many people?" Meg asked him eagerly after he finished admiring her handiwork. "What are they like? Are they of the race that knows Joseph?"

A tiny wrinkle appeared in Will's forehead. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I met plenty of people, but … they weren't particularly welcoming. Did any women stop by here today to see you?"

"No," Meg said slowly, realizing for the first time how odd that was. In Avonlea, most of the women wouldn't let a single day pass before calling on a newcomer. She was been so absorbed in her cleaning that she hadn't even noticed, but now she wondered. "Did we arrive in the middle of an important season for fishing? I know nobody can visit anyone during the harvest back home—I mean, back in Avonlea." She smiled guiltily at her slip. Grey Harbour was home now.

Will shook his head. "I don't think so. Like I said, I met a lot of people while I was walking—they just didn't show much interest in me. Those I said hello to said hello back, but that was all. Nobody stopped me of his own initiative, nobody asked me if I was the new minister, nothing."

"I do hope they're not unfriendly," Meg said worriedly. How would she live for a few years in a place where nobody was the slightest bit friendly!

"I don't think that's it, exactly," Will said, still trying to work it out. "It seemed more like—more like they just didn't have time to be interested." He shook his head. "Well! It's only been a day, after all. I'm sure they will warm up to us soon." He kissed her soundly. "Once they meet you, I'm sure I'll have to beat them off with a stick to get any time alone with my wife."

Meg laughed. She loved that he thought so highly of her—and worried, sometimes, that she might not always be able to live up to his good opinion. She vowed, as she had done so many times since learning to love him, to never do anything that would make him think less of her.

"I did buy some fish from one fellow," Will said, showing her his find, "And there's a little general store in the heart of the village where I was able to buy some potatoes and bread. Will that do for dinner?"

"You are an angel," Meg informed him. "Now all I have to do is remember which box contains our pots and pans."

* * *

By the end of the week, the house was habitable. Meg and Will had unpacked all their treasures and done their best to make it look _homey_. They couldn't do anything about the garish wallpaper, but by hanging pictures and prints they were able to cover the worst of the stains, at least. The darkness and narrowness of the place was much offset by judiciously placed mirrors and lamps, and Meg worked a near miracle in the kitchen to find a place for everything.

Thankfully, considering it was such a small house, they didn't have much by way of property. Everyone in the family had chipped in to buy them the necessities, and Meg had brought several knick-knacks and the aforementioned pictures from Green Gables, but aside from that and Will's books, their belongings were few. They house came furnished—and if the furniture was as ugly as the house, it was at least functional, though Meg had to repress a shudder every time they sat down at the blocky dining room table and stiff, uncomfortable chairs.

The biggest difficulty was finding a place for all of Will's books. He was an avid reader, of both non-fiction and fiction. It was as common for Meg to find him reading Augustine's _Confessions_ as it was _Wind in the Willows_. He had been collecting books all his life, and there simply wasn't room in that tiny house for all of them. In the end, most of them had to stay boxed up, while Will saved out just a few treasures, promising himself he would rotate them once every few months.

Meg's personal grievance was the pathetic garden and backyard. This late in the season there wasn't much she could do about either, but she promised herself that she would attend to them as soon as spring arrived.

Once the house was settled—or as settled as they could make it—Meg and Will started exploring. Meg had feared, from her impression of the house, that she was going to hate all of Grey Harbour. Instead, she found it beautiful.

Their little house was at the extreme western end of the village, with only fields and dusty roads beyond it. Walking east, they first passed the tiny, rickety church building, then the equally tiny, rickety general store/post office, and then came to the harbour itself, where most of the houses were clustered.

Upon seeing them, Meg started to feel a bit better about her pink abomination. Many of them were horribly bright, too—blue, pink, green, even one that was an eye-aching purple. The ones that weren't painted were weather-beaten and worn, producing an interesting contrast in colours and textures.

The actual harbour, seen at sunset as Meg first saw it, lived up to its name; it was grey and misty, the water smooth as spun silk with just the faintest reflection of pink shimmering on its face from the setting sun. Hordes of black-eyed, none-too-clean children played along the dusky sands, yelling and laughing.

Why, Meg realized with something of a shock, she was going to love it here, Pink Abomination and all! It was magical, mysterious … she could almost see an enchanted barge floating into the harbour from the sea, bearing an enchanted princess clad in purple silk and rose damask.

Will let her look her fill, then tugged at her hand. "Come on," he said. "I want to show you what's at the other end of the village."

Meg followed him obediently, smiling at the children as they passed the shore, wrinkling her nose at the smell as they walked along the docks with their rows of fishing boats neatly lined up, wondering curiously what sort of people lived in the houses along the road. Did any of them _really_ like such bright shades for their homes, or was it some sort of odd fishing tradition of which she'd never heard?

Then she saw The House. That was how she thought of it from the first, and ever after—with Capitals.

The first thing she saw was the lovely porch that covered the entire front and wrapped just around one corner. Meg had a weakness for porches; she jokingly claimed she'd never met a one she didn't like.

Then her eyes travelled over the rest of The House; a large, rambling building, managing to look surprisingly cosy despite its size; its shingles a weathered silver that blended beautifully with the waters shimmering just beyond the trees; a house with unexpected corners and friendly windows that winked chummily at one; birch trees and maples surrounding it and singing to Meg's part-dryad soul; and at the very top, right below the roof, one gable window that reminded her so of her Green Gables bedroom that for a moment homesickness almost left her breathless.

"Oh," she said softly once she recovered. "_What_ a darling place! Who lives there, Will?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know—yet. Hopefully I'll find out on Sunday. They ought to be of Joseph's race, don't you think?"

"They must, to live in a House like that."

Will wrapped his arm around Meg's shoulders. "Someday I'll build you a place like that, darling. With a good pantry and plenty of room for our children to run around and play."

Meg blushed to the roots of her curly hair. She wasn't quite accustomed yet to the idea of having _children_.

The pantry would be nice, though.


	5. Chapter 5

Meg spent hours Sunday morning trying to decide what to wear to church. While usually she could care less about clothes, this was their first Sunday in Grey Harbour, and she wanted to make a good impression. How was a minister's wife supposed to dress? She thought back to Grandmother Meredith, but couldn't remember anything about her but that she always looked neat and clean and sweet. Aunt Betsy always dressed simply, but Mrs. Rev. Craig in Avonlea usually wore all kinds of frills and furbelows to church.

She didn't want to dress _too_ nice for a poor fishing village, and make the other women feel like she thought too highly of herself … but she didn't want to dress so simply that they would think she didn't care enough about them to look nice, either. It was all very complicated.

In the end, she settled on a pretty patterned red dress with a perky black bow at her neck and a black hat. Normally she despised hats, but she supposed, with a sigh, that a minister's wife ought to be proper.

"Ready, love?" Will called up the stairs. He had been waiting patiently for her ever since they finished a hasty breakfast and Meg bolted upstairs to their dingy room and tiny closet.

Though he tried to conceal it, Will was at least as nervous as Meg. He had never before preached a "real" sermon—not to other students or a professor, but to a congregation that looked to him as their minister. What if he forgot his words? For the first time he cursed his tendency to only write brief, cryptic notes when preparing a sermon—just enough to jog his memory when it came time to speak. He had a loathing for fully written sermons, which the minister would read in a dry monotone without ever once looking at the congregation, but today he wished that he had written out fully everything he wanted to say, so he wouldn't have to think.

What if he said everything just fine, but nobody listened or cared? What if all they saw was his missing arm and automatically wrote him off as a failure?

What if …? He saw Meg coming down the stairs and smiled in relief. He finally understood why minister's wives always sat in the front of the church. It wasn't just for appearances; it was so their nervous husbands could always look at them for reassurance.

"You look lovely," he said warmly.

She kissed his cheek. "Thank you. And _you_ will do a wonderful job."

"Are my nerves that evident?" he asked ruefully.

"They are to me," Meg grinned. She linked her arm through his. Will felt another pang as she had to gather up both their Bibles and his notes in her free arm. Most days he could accept God's decision to take his arm, but that didn't mean he always had to like it.

"What's the matter?" Meg asked anxiously, seeing the brief distress on his face.

Will's expression cleared and he laughed sheepishly. "My pride. I don't like that you have to do everything requiring two hands."

Meg squeezed his arm. "I'd rather be married to you with one arm than any other man with two, you know that."

And he did. "Even," he teased as they walked down the dusty street to the church, "Hawk Giraud?"

Meg wrinkled her nose at the mention of her former beau. "Especially Hawk."

They were the first ones at the church building, and Will hesitated at first, wondering whether it would look better for him to already be behind the pulpit when the rest of the congregation arrived, or if he should greet people at the front. He asked Meg.

"Why, I think it would be a nice gesture to greet everyone first," she answered promptly. "It might look more _impressive_ for you to be waiting to start the service, but I think it would be more personal to say hello to people. After all, we are new here, and we haven't met _anyone_ yet." A slightly plaintive note entered her voice on that last line.

That bothered Will, too. Who were his elders, his deacons? What exactly were all his duties? How many members did the church have, and what did they expect from him? He had thought someone would stop by during the pervious week and give him all the information he needed, but nobody had shown any interest in the new couple at all, not even the woman who worked at the general store.

Meg watched her husband's face. An open and honest soul, he could rarely conceal anything behind those bright blue eyes. She knew he was more than a little disturbed at the apparent coldness of the village folk to his debut, and she prayed that everything would go well for him today, give him that extra burst of confidence he needed.

For herself, she just hoped that people would like her—and that she would do nothing to embarrass Will.

It lacked but a few minutes to the hour when people finally started to trickle in to the church building. Will and Meg stood side by side, brightly nervous smiles on both their faces as they shook hands and introduced themselves to their congregation.

Langlois, Gareau, Thibault, Coignac … they were mostly Acadian names, with a few Scottish MacDonalds and Fergusons sprinkled in for variety.

And from none of them, Scottish or Acadian, did Meg and Will receive a smile. A few mumbled "Good mornings" in response to their cheerful salutation, a shy duck of the head, that was all. Looking at the women in their plain, dark-coloured skirts, Meg felt terribly overdressed after all. Will need not have feared that people would stare at his missing arm—very few even looked at him at all.

Minister and minister's wife looked at each other with worry in their eyes as the last members straggled in and took their seats. Had they made a terrible mistake in coming here? Why were the people so unfriendly? Was there a prejudice against them they didn't know about?

Meg swallowed her fears and disappointment and kissed Will's cheek. "They haven't heard you preach yet," she whispered encouragingly.

He smiled thankfully at her, and they took their places—he behind the pulpit, she sitting in the front pew looking at him with trusting eyes.

Will felt another moment of panic as he gazed over the sea of solemn faces. There couldn't have been more than two dozen people seated in the church, but it seemed like a thousand. He realized, belatedly, that he didn't even know the typical order of service. Who played the tiny old piano in the corner? How many hymns did they sing? Did they take up a collection, and if so, when? He had been so focused on making his first sermon perfect that he hadn't even considered these minor but necessary details.

Everyone was waiting for him, though, so he cleared his throat and began.

"Er—good morning," he said. "As I'm guessing you know by now, I'm Will Ashton, filling in as reverend until you find a permanent one." Nobody responded with so much as an eyelash flicker. Will looked helplessly at Meg and tried again. "I am very happy to be here, and am looking forward to getting to now you all and serving this community."

Nothing.

"I, um, I'm afraid I don't know how you usually conduct your services. If someone could give me an idea?"

Finally, a grizzled old man in the back spoke up. "Reverend allus led us in a hymn or two afore the preaching. After, he prayed and we all went home."

"Thank you, sir," Will said in relief. "Er—do you have a pianist?"

"Reverend's missus played afore she passed on. After that we just sang," a young woman volunteered, shifting her red-cheeked baby on her hip as she spoke.

Meg rose to her feet at once. "I'd be happy to play," she offered quietly. Will nodded at her gratefully as she quickly crossed to the piano and rifled through the hymnal. "Shall we begin with the Old Hundredth?"

After two hymns, sung clearly but without any expression, Meg went back to her seat, and Will led them in a short prayer and launched into his sermon.

It was a beautifully crafted message, or so at least Meg thought, with Genesis 50:20 as its text: Joseph's timeless statement "ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good." Meg's heart swelled with pride in her husband as he spoke of God directing all human events for good, even when the hearts of men were evil.

"It took Joseph over twenty years before he saw the good that came from his brothers' wicked actions," Will said, his blue eyes blazing with passion, "but he trusted in the Lord through it all. Certainly it would be easy to despair, looking at the state of the world today—weary and wracked by war, with horrible things happening in the Pacific"—

Meg felt a pang, even in the midst of the thrill of Will's sermon, at the thought of Matt over there in all that devastation.

"But friends, even though we may not be able to see it now, God will work all this out for good. Maybe not for another twenty years, maybe not even in our lifetime, but someday.

"And maybe there are things in our life that seem hopeless, that seem impossible to ever have any happy ending. Fear not, my friends: someday, God will bring joy from our ashes."

With that, he ended. Meg thought it was a brilliant sermon, but the rest of the congregation seemed unmoved. As soon as Will finished his closing prayer, they stood up and filed out the door, not one of them even stopping to say hello. Within moments, husband and wife were looking at each other in bewilderment.

"Was it really that bad?" Will asked helplessly.

"It was wonderful," Meg answered with all the confidence of a young bride. "I suppose—I suppose they just do things differently here than what we're used to."

Will sighed and ran his hand through his hair, tousling it from its unnatural Sunday sleekness to its usual curly mass. "I can't help feeling like I'm somehow making an awful hash of things."

"Why don't you write to Uncle Bruce?" Meg suggested, desperate for anything to take that defeated look out of Will's eyes. Only one week, and already he felt this way! "Since he's the one who got you this position, maybe he knows something about the people."

Will's face brightened. "That's an excellent idea, my love." Regardless of the fact that they were in church, he kissed her soundly. "I'll write him this very afternoon."

"I have letters to write, too," Meg said as they walked back home. "Rose and Polly and Joss and Matt! Everyone wants to know how the newlyweds are doing."

"What will you tell them?"

Meg smiled sunnily. "That even though things are not what we expected, we are doing marvellously."


	6. Chapter 6

Will mailed his letter to Uncle Bruce (and Meg's packet of letters, under which he jokingly staggered on his way to the post office), but they received an answer—of sorts—to their puzzlement before the Rev. Meredith even could have received the missive.

Will was out walking, hoping as usual to meet up with someone who would talk to him, and Meg was just finishing up the breakfast dishes and trying not to look at the pathetic backyard. She was happily distracted by a knock on the door, and, wiping her hands on her apron, opened it curiously. Nobody had knocked on their door at all since they had moved in.

Standing on the rickety steps was one of the most beautiful girls Meg had ever seen. Long dark hair cascaded freely down her back; piercing blue eyes stared boldly at Meg out of a perfectly sculpted face; her full red lips curved in an amused smile; and even her plain blue gingham dress couldn't hide her stately figure. She looked, to Meg's dazzled eyes, like a goddess of the sea come to live with the fisherfolk for a lark.

"Mrs. Ashton?" she asked, her voice low and melodious.

"Yes," Meg answered with a blush. She still wasn't used to hearing that name from strangers!

"I am Natalie Pichot," the goddess said. "I work for Miss Beth. She sent me with her apologies for not welcoming you properly; she has been ill and couldn't see anyone. She is better now, though, and would like to invite you and Reverend Ashton to come to dinner tonight." All this was delivered in a rapid, business-like manner, with no extra expression. Even so, her beautiful voice caressed each syllable before letting it fall, infusing the most commonplace words with magic. Listening to her, Meg was reminded of Sara Stanley Giraud, Hawk's grandmother. So too did she speak.

"We would be delighted," she said shyly, suddenly feeling very young and awkward, "But … forgive me … who is Miss Beth?"

"You don't know?" Amazement flooded the girl—Natalie's voice.

"I'm afraid we haven't met anyone yet."

"Miss Beth lives up at North Wind." When Meg still looked blank, Natalie elaborated. "Back of the North Wind, the house's full name is, but everyone shortens it to North Wind. The big house? At the other end of the village?"

"Oh!" Meg's eyes lit with understanding. "The House!"

Natalie's blue eyes crinkled with amusement, and for the first time since this beautiful girl had arrived at her door Meg felt she was laughing with her, not at her. "Yes, The House. That is how I always think of it, too."

"But I still don't understand who Miss Beth is, exactly," Meg confessed.

"She is Miss Elizabeth MacDonald, formally," Natalie said. "Everyone just calls her Miss Beth, though. That is her name, anyway. As for who she is, herself … you'll have to meet her before you answer that. Shall we expect you at six, then?" Her brief moment of friendliness was gone, and she pulled formality over her shoulders like a cloak.

"Six will be fine, thank you," Meg said. "Shall we … may we bring something?"

"It is not necessary," Natalie said coldly, and with a gesture that almost resembled a bow, she was gone.

Meg asked Will when he returned if he knew anything about a Miss Beth or Miss MacDonald, but he shook his head.

"She must have a sense of humour, though," he commented when he heard what her home was named.

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you ever read 'At the Back of the North Wind' by George MacDonald? It's a lovely little fairy story, and she obviously played on the shared last name when it came time to name her house. It's a beautiful name, too," he added. "In the story, the country at the back of the north wind is a representation of heaven."

"Oh, how sweet," Meg said. "I knew Miss Beth had to be of the race that knows Joseph."

* * *

Despite this confidence, Meg was still a little nervous as she and Will walked to North Wind that evening. She usually enjoyed meeting new people, but the odd coldness of the people of Grey Harbour had shaken her confidence.

Still, the sight and sound of the sea, shimmering in the twilight, couldn't help but lift her spirits, and her heart gave a glad little leap as they rounded the last corner and saw The House.

So it was that Meg was smiling happily when Natalie opened the door tot heir knock, and the girl instantly looked as though she resented Meg's joy.

"Come in," she commanded curtly. Then she saw Will standing behind Meg and smiled sweetly. "Good evening, Reverend," she said, her voice low and melting. Meg felt a chill. How dare any woman speak to her husband in such an intimate voice? She hadn't said anything inappropriate, but the way she said it …

"I'm so sorry I wasn't at church yesterday," she continued, ignoring Meg and helping Will out of his coat. "I wanted to come, but Miss Beth was still weak and I couldn't leave her."

Will smiled easily and took Meg's hand. "Hopefully we'll see you next Sunday, then."

Natalie's eyes flickered between the couple, and her face shadowed again. "This way."

Will squeezed Meg's hand, and when she looked at him, smiled reassuringly at her.

"Reverend and Mrs. Ashton, Miss Beth," Natalie announced, stopping in the doorway of a large room.

"Well step aside, Natie dear, let me see them!" came a crisp voice.

The girl did as she was bid, and Meg and Will met Miss Beth.

She was a tall, stately old woman, her hair iron-grey and worn in a neat pile atop her head, with austere features and snapping brown eyes. In fact, Meg might have been a little afraid of her were it not for the warm, joyous smile on that aristocratic face.

"Welcome, my dears!" she cried, coming toward them with her hands stretched out.

Will released Meg's hand to take one of Miss Beth's and kiss it gallantly. "We are so pleased to be here, Miss MacDonald."

"Oh nonsense," she said unexpectedly. "I don't want to hear any of this 'Miss MacDonald' business. You children call me Miss Beth, do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Will said with his engaging grin.

She raised one eyebrow at him. "I can see you're trouble, young man. It's a good thing you have a wife to keep you in line." She turned to Meg. "I am so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ashton."

Emboldened by Miss Beth's manner, Meg said, "Oh please, do call me Meg."

"Very well, Meg. Such a lovely name, although I thought your uncle called you Joanna?"

"You know Uncle Bruce?" Meg asked, so surprised that she forgot to explain her name.

Miss Beth looked surprised as well. "Of course! Didn't he tell you? No, I can see that he didn't. Just like his father, if Betsy weren't there to keep him grounded. Jack Meredith was the most scatter-brained man alive, couldn't remember his own name without Lia there reminding him."

As Meg tried to recover from this second shock of hearing Grandfather Meredith referred to as "Jack," Miss Beth motioned for them to sit down.

"Natie, bring the sherry. You don't object, I hope, Reverend?"

"Not at all," Will said. "And as we're all being so informal, I must ask that you stop calling me Reverend—not only does it sound too grand for me, I've not been ordained, so I haven't earned it yet."

"Do you prefer Will or Mr. Ashton?"

"Will, please," smiling thanks at Natalie as she brought him a small tumbler of sherry. She smiled back and let her fingers brush against his, to Meg's discomfort.

"Thank you, Natie," Miss Beth said firmly. "You may sit now." As the girl settled into a chair by the fireplace, Miss Beth began her tale.

"Jack Meredith, Cecilia Mason—Lia, we all called her—and I all grew up together, along with my brothers, Ned and Tom. My father was a minister, and Jack knew from the time he was a lad that he wanted to be one, too. Ned and Tom scoffed at him for it, but Jack was always resolute, even if he _was_ so absent-minded he'd wear his winter coat in August.

"Lia and I were like sisters, and I was bridesmaid when she and Jack married after he finished divinity school. My father performed the ceremony, and even if Ned and Tom couldn't understand why dear little Lia would marry someone as dull as a minister, they were happy for them, too.

"By that point my father had left his prestigious preaching position in the city and come here, to Grey Harbour, after hearing that the people here had no church. He built this house, and the church building, and I stayed with him as housekeeper (my dear mother having passed away when I was quite young). So I lost touch with Lia and Jack, though she still wrote to me every year and sent me birth announcements for each of the children.

"After she died, though, I never heard another thing from Jack until after he married that lovely West woman. He wrote to tell me that he had found love again, and he hoped I wouldn't hold it against him for Lia's sake. I told _him_ that Lia was the most unselfish being ever to walk this earth and she would be glad he had found another wife, and so was I. I even included a congratulatory note to his new bride, and we continued to write once or twice a year just to keep in touch."

Miss Beth paused and looked at the young couple. "Am I boring you yet?"

"Not at all," Meg answered brightly. "We've never known much about Grandfather Meredith—he was a wonderful man, but difficult to talk to."

"And I never met him at all," Will said.

"Very well," Miss Beth continued.

"When young Bruce decided to pursue the ministry, just like his father, naturally I encouraged him and followed his career with interest. I even invited him and Betsy out for a visit—do you remember them, Natie?"

"No," Natalie said shortly.

"They might have come while you were away," Miss Beth said. "Well, to finish up this rambling tale of mine, when Reverend Martin passed on, I wrote to Bruce and asked him if he knew of anyone who could come take his place. He mentioned that his niece Joanna was engaged to a prospective minister, and he'd see if the young man was interested in gaining some practical experience before traipsing off to seminary."

"And here we are," Will said with a smile.

"And here you are," Miss Beth agreed. "Naturally I expected Bruce to explain the connection to you—and even if he hadn't I planned on being there to meet you when you first arrived and take you around to introduce you. Then that wretched flu hit, and I was confined to my bed for two weeks! The doctor and Natalie have only just now started letting me walk around again. I practically had to plead on my knees before Natie would let me have you children over for dinner, but I simply couldn't leave you hanging any longer."

Natalie smiled coolly.

"Well," Will said in relief, "that certainly explains a few things!"

"Now," said Miss Beth. "I know Natie is worried about her delicious dinner spoiling, but before we go in to the dining room, I must have one thing explained to me: are you Meg or Joanna?"

"Both," Meg laughed. "I was christened Joanna Margaret, but before I was a year old my father started calling me Meggie. As I grew older it got shortened to Meg, and there you have it. Uncle Bruce calls me Joanna, though; he always has. He and Aunt Betsy are the only ones."

"Now I understand," Miss Beth said. "And now we can eat."

Will leapt to his feet and offered his arm to Miss Beth with courtly, old-fashioned grace. She chuckled appreciatively.

"Thank you, young man, but please, escort your wife. I may be frail, but I'm not so feeble that I must take a husband away from his new bride." She twinkled her eyes at Will, and he twinkled right back. Meg heard Natalie's sniff.

The meal was delicious: fresh trout cooked delicately in a light lemon sauce; small red potatoes; crusty bread; and green peas. When Meg complimented Miss Beth on the food, that lady shook her head with a smile.

"My dear Natie does all the cooking. I was never very good in the kitchen, even when I was my father's housekeeper, so I leave it all to her capable hands." She smiled with obvious fondness at the girl, who returned to her such a brilliant smile that Meg blinked.

She had taken a deep dislike to this beautiful girl who flirted so openly with Meg's own husband, but she tried to swallow her resentment and smile. "May I ask you for the recipe for this trout? My only expertise comes with pan-frying fish."

Instantly, Natalie's smile vanished. "I never share my recipes," she said coolly.

"They're a family secret," Miss Beth explained.

"Fair enough," said Meg, still trying. "We have a few in our family which we're not allowed to share, either."

"Mrs. Rev. Craig never gives out recipes, either," contributed Will. "Or if she does, she always leaves out one particular spice or seasoning that makes it taste just so."

"Will! She never does!"

"She does! Rev. Craig himself told me that. He said his wife only ever had two flaws: vanity of appearance and pride in cooking. She lost her vanity after their last daughter was born, but he says nothing on earth will ever cure her of her cooking pride."

Meg started to laugh. "All these years," she said, "I thought I was doing something wrong with the cherry tarts—and all this time it was because she left something out of the recipe she gave me!"

"Natalie makes marvellous cherry tarts," Miss Beth said. "Perhaps she can give you some tips on how to fill in the blank spaces of your recipe?"

"I'd appreciate that," Meg said.

Natalie inclined her head, but did not answer.

"Miss Beth," Will said after the meal, as Natalie was bringing in plates of apple cake, piled high with fluffy whipped cream, "I wonder if you could enlighten me as to something here in the village."

"If I can't, nobody can," Miss Beth said. "I've lived here for sixty years and know everybody's secrets, as well as the common gossip. What is troubling you, Will?"

"I wonder if I've managed to accidentally offend people," Will said. "Meg and I—we haven't met anyone here yet, not really. Oh, we've exchanged names and smiled and said hello, but nobody ever talks to us. Nobody stayed after church on Sunday to greet us, nobody seems at all interested in getting to know us. Have we done something wrong?"

"Not at all," Miss Beth said. She smiled gently. "I'm afraid you are going to have to rid yourself of many preconceived notions you might have about people in small villages. I'm sure in your Avonlea folks are very gregarious and chatty, especially with newcomers." She raised her eyebrows enquiringly.

"Yes, exactly," Meg said.

"Grey Harbour folk are a bit different. Life is not easy here, and people work hard. They don't have time to be as friendly and talkative, nor do they have many interests outside of their own families. Give them time, my dears, and one day you'll suddenly wake up and realize you belong here, and you won't know when or how it happened."

Will and Meg exchanged sceptical glances, and Miss Beth saw them. She laughed. "I know you don't believe me! Trust me, I was miserable here for the first year after my father moved here. I doubt it will take you that long, but oh, I thought I'd never make any friends or find anything of interest in such a dull, difficult place. Then somehow …" She shrugged. "Grey Harbour creeps into your blood, you'll find."

Meg still doubted, and she could see by Will's face that he felt the same, but neither of them contradicted Miss Beth.

Time alone would prove which of them was right.


	7. Chapter 7

"Mrs. Ashton!"

Meg looked over from the display of bread flour at that melodious voice ringing through the general store. "Good morning, Natalie. How is everyone up at The House?"

"We are well, thank you," Natalie said formally. Meg wondered anew how a simple fisherman's daughter could be so polished; Natalie must have had some sort of education. She continued. "I'm glad to see you here, as it saves me a trip. My weekly day out is tomorrow, and Miss Beth was hoping you would be willing to come and spend the day with her. As long, that is, as you have nothing else pressing?"

"I would be delighted," Meg said with sincerity. It was now November, and the people of Grey Harbour were no warmer toward her and Will than they had been when they first moved. It had been a bleak autumn for the young couple, struggling to find their place. A day with Miss Beth would both be refreshing and—Meg hoped—enlightening. Perhaps she would have some tips on how Meg could interest the women of the church in—well, anything. Meg remembered her lofty words on her honeymoon, about wanting to do more for the women of Grey Harbour than Ladies Aid and a Sewing Circle.

Now she would be happy if she could only get either of those organisations started!

Will was struggling, too. None of the men were interested in talking about spiritual matters, or learning how to live better lives. The only thing they seemed to think of was fishing.

And Will, with only one arm and a city background, was manifestly unfit for fishing. He was far more suited to a scholarly life, but the Grey Harbour men looked at book-learning as unnecessary and a waste of time.

It was all quite perplexing, and so Meg set out the next morning for The House with a glad heart, anticipating stimulating conversation and wisdom.

She met Natalie coming down the path as she was going up. The other girl smiled politely and said good morning, but she didn't look anywhere near as pleased to have a day off as Meg would have expected.

Meg found Natalie an enigma. She was warmly attentive to Miss Beth, and the older woman treated her more as a daughter than hired help. Yet she was frosty to the point of rudeness to almost everyone else in Grey Harbour, Meg included.

Frosty to the _women_, at least. Her flirtatious behaviour with Will was merely a sample of how she acted around all men. She couldn't even walk down the street with smiling and winking and generally exhibiting what Grandmamma Irving would call unladylike behaviour.

Poor Will, usually so friendly toward everyone, was extremely uncomfortable around someone so provocative, and had a difficult time balancing his ministerial warmth with his personal revulsion.

Yet Meg, oddly enough, found that she didn't dislike Natalie half so much once she realised that Natalie was--apparently--simply a flirt by nature, and that she wasn't genuinely chasing Meg's husband. She was sure there was more to Natalie than met the eye, if for no other reason than she couldn't quite believe Miss Beth would be so warm to someone truly bad.

And there was something in Natalie's eyes—hidden beneath that bold sparkle—some whisper of a deeper character, that intrigued Meg. She wished she could get to know Natalie better, but the younger girl didn't show any interest in friendship.

"So kind of you to come spend your day keeping a crotchety old woman company," Miss Beth said, opening the door to Meg and smiling at the young woman's blithe face and merry eyes.

"I think you're the kind one, taking pity on a poor lonely bride," Meg responded gaily, kissing Miss Beth's cheek.

"Lonely? Good gracious, child, surely a lonely bride is an oxymoron!" Miss Beth ushered Meg into the hall and hung her coat and hat on the stand.

Meg blushed and laughed. "Oh, I didn't mean that, Miss Beth! I know I'm more fortunate than some—so many women are married to men who have to leave the house every day to work, or even have to work themselves, and my husband spends most of his days at home."

"What did you mean, then?" Miss Beth queried severely, leading the way into the parlour. "One should always say what one means."

Left with no room to wiggle, Meg spoke the blunt truth. "I suppose I meant lonely in terms of friends. I was a little spoiled before coming here; at home I had cousins who lived just down the road, and before the war my twin and I were inseparable. At school, too, I was always surrounded by friends. I'm just not used to not being able to drop in on people just to chat, or vice versa."

For some reason, she felt horribly guilty about confessing such a thing, and she looked all around the room in an attempt to avoid Miss Beth's eyes.

The parlour was well worth looking at, even with less reason than Meg had. The walls were a warm golden colour, and the dark wooden floor was covered with a pine-green rug. The effect of sunshine in a forest was carried throughout the rest of the room, with dark built-in bookcases, deep green abstract stencilling along the baseboards and plate rail, and honey-coloured slipcovers over the furniture. It wasn't at all the "modern" style, but its simplicity and comfort were both welcoming and lovely. The dining room where they had eaten the evening she had them over for dinner, done in various shades of rose and blue, was very similar, and Meg suspected the rest of the house matched.

"Quite understandable," Miss Beth said, settling into "her" chair—a high-backed, old-fashioned wooden seat that looked most uncomfortable to young people accustomed to cushions. "As I said before, you two will make friends in time, but in the meanwhile, I can see how it would be rather lonely."

Meg finally looked her hostess in the face. "You don't think I sound—sulky? Or childish? I was afraid that as a minister's wife I oughtn't feel this way."

"Minister's wives—and daughters," Miss Beth said with a wry twist to her mouth, "are human too, a fact many people in their parishes often forget. Just ask your Aunt Betsy sometime, or Jack's daughters, Hope and what's-her-name."

"Aunt Faith and Aunt Una," Meg said, laughing.

"Of course. I never can remember those virtue names, and for some reason I always forget about Una."

"Aunt Faith did always say it was very hard being expected to be a paragon of virtue just because she had the misfortune to be born to a minister," Meg remembered. "She said she was no worse than many girls, but people were always twice as shocked at her antics because of her father."

"There you have it. Stop worrying so much about what people expect of a minister's wife, dear, and just do as you think right. You'll find your life much more comfortable."

"Thank you," Meg said gratefully.

"Now," said Miss Beth, rising somewhat stiffly from her chair. "Would you care to see the rest of North Wind? I love my house, and I especially love to show it off to people."

"Oh, I'd like that," Meg said, standing up much more easily than Miss Beth. "I fell in love with this house the moment I saw it, and I've been dying for a good look at the interior ever since!"

"Yes, I'm afraid the house you're living in now does leave much to be desired, aesthetically speaking."

"Will and I call it the Pink Abomination between ourselves," Meg admitted.

"A very good name for it!" Miss Beth laughed. For all her years, her laugh was still as fresh and musical as a girl's. It made Meg think of Grandmother Blythe; she still laughed that way, too.

"It does heat well, though," Meg said. "We haven't been cold at all this autumn."

"Yes, when Father retired from the ministry he didn't want to give up North Wind, so he had a house built for his replacement. The architect he hired was very good on the essentials, such as proper insulation and plumbing and the like, and very poor on details, such as comfort and beauty."

The rest of the house was just as lovely as Meg had suspected. Her favourite room was a tiny bedroom upstairs, painted a soft green with brown trim. It was unfurnished, but Meg's imagination instantly filled it with a crib and a rocking chair, and a wee lad or lassie waving chubby arms and legs and cooing happily.

"Yes," Miss Beth said, though Meg hadn't spoken, "this was meant to be a nursery. Father always thought I'd marry and give him grandchildren." She sighed. "Unfortunately, I never met anyone I cared enough about to marry."

"No secret love affair hiding away in your past?" Meg teased.

"No, my smiling face is not concealing a broken heart," Miss Beth said dryly. "Much more prosaic than that—just a girl who was overly picky and was left alone."

"Not that I mind," she added once they were back in the parlour. "I have enough interests without a husband taking up my time. And Natie dear is quite like a daughter to me. Or at least a niece."

"My Uncle Carl never married," Meg said. "He says that every family needs one bachelor, and he enjoys his nieces and nephews without having the burden of responsibility for them."

The rest of the morning passed pleasantly and quietly, and after a light luncheon (Meg fell in love with the kitchen at once, the big, spacious room with the enormous stove and darling pantry almost rivalling the tiny nursery for her affections) sat back down in the parlour. Miss Beth brought out her knitting, and Meg had brought a tiny baby dress she was sewing for her school chum Merrill, who was married to a pig farmer out west and expecting their first child in the spring.

Miss Beth raised her eyebrows when she saw Meg's project. "Not for you, I trust, or you would have said something?"

"No, oh no," Meg blushed.

"Good," Miss Beth nodded. "Not that there's anything wrong with having children, mind, but I always think it's a wise course for young people to be married at least a year before they start their family. That gives them a chance to get to know each other as husband and wife before they become Mother and Father."

"Will and I haven't discussed—that is, we're not planning—I mean," Meg stammered.

Miss Beth laughed. "Don't be shy around me, my dear. I am a blunt, forthright old woman and I expect others to be the same toward me. I have never cared very much about silly conventions, and I like them less the older I get."

"Then in that case," Meg said with determination, setting her sewing down, "may I ask you something?"

"By all means."

Meg hesitated, not because she regretted her boldness, but because she was searching for the right words. Miss Beth waited patiently. Finally, Meg spoke, the words starting slow and soon spilling out, tumbling over themselves like a river rushing over and past rocks in its path.

"Will and I—we want so badly to be a good influence on the people here. I know that you said we have to have patience before they accept us as true villagers, but—there must be something we can do to help move things along. I've suggested a Ladies Aid, a Sewing Circle, a Book Club, even a Children's Club where young ones could come one day a week and play games and learn Bible stories. All I get in response are polite nods and blank faces! I want to help these women improve themselves—ultimately I want to do more than just these shallow things; Aunt Betsy has a group of women and girls that gather at the manse once a week and study the Bible for themselves, can you imagine that? Uncle Bruce is always nearby in his study in case they get stuck on a point, but they are taking it upon themselves to learn more instead of leaving that sort of thing to the men.

"Aunt Betsy also tutors some of the promising scholars who couldn't afford to go on to college, to help them win scholarships. Uncle Bruce does the same with the boys, and he—well, they both do so much.

"Will has the same problem as I do. He'd like to meet with some of the men on a weekly basis to study the Scriptures more in depth than they can do on Sunday mornings. He'd like to see about raising money to support missionaries. He'd like to help promising youngsters get an education. And while I'm no great scholar, I could teach music if people would only show interest, but oh Miss Beth, nobody seems to care about anything but fish!"

Miss Beth had said not a word through this, merely listening with her hands folded and a fond, slightly amused smile playing about her mouth.

"Why should they be?" she finally asked.

Meg stumbled to a stop. "What?"

"Fishing is their life. Fishing is all they know. It's not just a profession, like, oh, blacksmithing or running a general store. It's a complete way of life." She leaned forward and patted Meg's knee. "I understand your frustration, dear. I felt the same way when we first moved here.

"Can you imagine it," she said. "Here I was, a young eighteen-year-old who had lived her entire life a wealthy child of the city, pampered and respected by all, suddenly transplanted to this—as I saw it at the time—dirty, backward, stinking village. I told myself to look on it as a mission: God was calling me to improve these people's lives."

Meg squirmed slightly. Hearing it from Miss Beth's lips sounded arrogant, but she knew that she and Will were guilty of much the same thinking. It just sounded more noble when they spoke of it.

"I wonder now that they didn't drown me within a month. Oh Meg, I was so full of pride and earthly vanity! How I condescended to these people—'those people,' that's exactly how I thought of them, as though they were a species apart—with my grand lady ways, trying to set myself up as a paragon of virtue, an example for them to follow. I invited the women over for tea and made them feel so embarrassed in their plain clothes, with their unpolished manners, as I presided over the tea as though I were still in high society.

"I spoke of books and music and the theatre to both men and women, telling myself that I was bringing culture to their lives, when in fact I merely reminded them of how very small their world was.

"I tried to teach the girls embroidery and fancy sewing; some I even trained to be housemaids, as education was less of an option for women back then. I thought that this would give them a chance to 'escape' Grey Harbour, not realising that I was depriving their families of a very needed extra body to help with day-to-day living."

Meg's eyes were full of ashamed tears. "Oh stop, please," she cried. "Oh Miss Beth, you make me feel about two inches tall!" She covered her burning face with her hands.

"There, there, child, don't take on so," Miss Beth said, softening her tone. "It's not the end of the world. All you are guilty of is a little prejudice, just like ninety-nine percent of the world. Maybe even ninety-nine and a half," she added consideringly.

"What should I do?" Meg asked, humbly and simply. "What should we do," she corrected herself, thinking of Will's misplaced enthusiasm along with her own.

"Interest yourselves in their lives, instead of trying to 'raise' them to your interests," Miss Beth said. "Show them that you care about them as people, not just projects. Really care about them as people, as they are shrewd enough to see through you if you only pretend.

"Fortunately for me, my father had earned enough respect that the people didn't come after me in a howling mob with torches and pitchforks. It was he who finally drew me aside and gently showed me where I was going wrong. I stopped trying to set myself up as better than them, and soon found that I had much I could learn from them, lessons in love and sacrifice and duty. I soon became so attached to the place that even after Father died and I was free to move back to the city—both Ned and Tom offered me a home—I stayed on. Grey Harbour had become my home; 'those people' had become my people."

Meg stood up, walked over to Miss Beth's chair, and kissed her cheek softly. "Thank you," she said with glowing eyes.

Miss Beth reached up and patted her face. "Bless you, child."


	8. Chapter 8

Coming back down the hill from North Wind just before dusk, Meg met Natalie and—she blinked—surely it must be her twin—or no, not her twin, her other self. For a moment Meg felt eerie, as though she was seeing the light and the dark, the real and the mirror image, two sides of one person.

Like Natalie, this girl had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. But where Natalie's eyes were bold, hers were veiled. Where Natalie's features were full and vibrant, this girl's were narrow, thin, and pale. Natalie was full-figured; this girl was willowy. Natalie shone; this girl merely shimmered.

Beautiful, yes—she was just as beautiful as Natalie, but she was all ice to Natalie's fire.

"Mrs. Ashton?" she asked, pausing as they met. Even her voice was the antonym of Natalie's—controlled and calm, revealing nothing about her personality.

"Yes," Meg said.

She smiled. "I knew you must be. Natalie said you were spending the day with Miss Beth so that she could come be with me." She squeezed Natalie's arm. "Go on to North Wind, Natalie. I want to speak with Mrs. Ashton."

Natalie nodded wordlessly and vanished up the hill in a whirl of skirt.

"I'm Aurore Pichot," the girl said. "Natalie is my younger sister."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Meg said. "I'm so sorry—but I don't remember seeing you in church or anywhere around the village."

Aurore smiled. "No, you wouldn't have seen me. I've just returned from England. I worked there as a nurse during the war, and just barely got my release."

"Two of my cousins were nurses during the war," Meg said brightly, wondering why she instinctively disliked Aurore. It wasn't the same feeling she had toward Natalie—Natalie puzzled her, and under her displeasure with Natalie's behaviour toward Will, Meg felt an odd pity for the girl.

Aurore, though … something about her made Meg shrink away into herself. She told herself she was being ridiculous—she'd barely known the young woman for five minutes—but she couldn't shake the cold, creeping sensation.

"I'm so glad to have met you like this," Aurore continued, ignoring Meg's conversational gambit about her cousins. "Natalie, of course, filled me in on everything that has happened in the village since I left, and featuring very prominently in her conversation was our handsome new minister." Aurore stopped and faced Meg with pale blue eyes full of pleading. "Mrs. Ashton, please believe that Natalie doesn't mean any harm toward your husband. I scolded her sharply, of course, for even entertaining thoughts about him, but it's a sad fact that Natalie has always lost her head over men." Aurore shook her own head sadly.

"I never believed that your sister wanted to steal my husband, if that's what is troubling you," Meg said, a little sharply.

"Natalie never wants to do any harm, but … it's the truth, though it pains me to admit it, that before Miss Beth took her in, my sister was known as the village Magdalen."

Meg felt more uncomfortable than ever. Even if that were true, surely Aurore didn't need to inform someone she had just barely met of the fact?

"I love my sister dearly," Aurore continued. "I've always loved her and tried to protect her from the consequences of her actions. When I had to leave for England, I went to Miss Beth and asked her to look after Natalie for me. She immediately took Natalie on as her housemaid, and Natalie's been good ever since. She still struggles with her baser inclinations, though, so if you see her making eyes at your husband, know that it's just her old ways trying to break through. She'd never do anything wrong, of course, not anymore, not now that Miss Beth has appointed herself Natalie's guardian."

It was the third time Aurore had used "of course," and each time Meg flinched. She had always hated it when people sprinkled their conversation with phrases like "obviously" and "we all know" and "of course." They made her immediately want to contradict whatever it was the person was saying with such assumed assurance. Despite the fact that Meg herself had characterised Natalie as having a innately flirtatious manner, Aurore's bald statement of the fact immediately made her re-think her previous assessment--and in Natalie's favour.

"Again, I had no fears regarding your sister's behaviour," she said, a little annoyed that Aurore seemed to think Will would just blindly succumb to Natalie's attractions if she did decide to pursue him.

Aurore smiled blandly. "Good. I'm so glad I was able to meet you and explain things to you, Mrs. Ashton." She motioned to a small house by the harbour. "Here is where I stop; this is my house. I naturally expected Natalie to come back and live with me again once I came home, but she claims she cannot leave Miss Beth."

"Miss Beth does depend a great deal on Natalie," Meg said defensively.

"Oh, I know! I would never dream of asking her to leave if she feels it her duty … I'm just happy she's someplace safe, where I don't have to worry if she doesn't come home one night, about what she's doing or who she's with …"

Meg cut Aurore off. "I'm so sorry, Miss Pichot, but I really must hurry home. My husband will be wondering where I am."

Aurore narrowed her eyes, but smiled. "Of course. Good evening, Mrs. Ashton."

"Good evening," Meg said, and hurried down the road.

* * *

Meg didn't mention the icily smooth Aurore to Will when she got home. She did, however, relate to him everything that Miss Beth had said regarding the village.

He was just as ashamed as Meg had been, if not more so. Then and there, they clasped hands and vowed to do better—to do their best to love the people of Grey Harbour as they were, and not try to "improve" them.

They started the very next morning. Instead of spending most of his day holed up in the tiny parlour, painstakingly preparing his finest sermon, Will left at dawn to meet up with some of the men who were winterising their boats and preparing their ice fishing equipment, to ask if there was any way he could be useful and if they would be willing to teach him.

Meg, meanwhile, got her housekeeping out of the way early and packed a basket with fresh-baked bread and a jar of chicken soup, then headed down the road to Mrs. Murdoch's home. Miss Beth had casually mentioned that Mrs. Murdoch was expecting her seventh child in December, and that four out of the current six were ill right now.

A thin, sullen-looking girl with weary dark eyes answered Meg's knock and stood blinking at Meg's bright smile.

"Good morning," Meg said, automatically hushing her voice in response to the smell of sickness wafting out of the tiny house. "Is your mother in?"

The girl stepped back. "Ma," she called, "Reverend's Missus is here."

Meg stepped inside to see Mrs. Murdoch trying to struggle up off the dingy couch.

"Oh, don't get up, please," Meg said, hurrying forward, and firmly pressing the woman back down. "I came to ask if there was anything I could do to help, not make more work for you. Miss Beth mentioned yesterday that you were having a rough patch right now."

That brought a sour smile to Mrs. Murdoch's face. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose. Well, if Miss Beth sent you, I guess I can't argue, and fact is I don't much have the energy to, Missus Reverend."

Meg set her basket down and took off her hat determinedly. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Murdoch?"

Mrs. Murdoch's eyes wandered around the dirty house and unkempt children, to settle on her oldest daughter, now holding a whimpering baby and trying to comfort him, with a sigh. "If you could help out Sally with the wee ones, I'd be ever so grateful, Missus."

Meg went right to work, and it wasn't long before she and Sally between them had the four younger ones clean, fed, and tucked into bed to rest,

"Mother Nature's best medicine," Meg said cheerfully, when three-year-old Jacky tried to protest. "You'll be able to run around and play twice as quickly if you rest up now, young man."

Then Meg made Sally sit down and eat some of the soup she'd brought. "You'll be no help at all to your mother if you go and get sick, too," she admonished the girl. "Get this down you and then I think you might need a good nap, yourself."

"Me? Nap? At my age? I could never!" Sally protested.

"Listen to Missus Reverend," Mrs. Murdoch ordered.

"But Ma, who'll take care of things if I sleep?"

"That's what I'm here for," Meg reminded her.

After considerable more persuasion, Sally finally crawled onto her mattress next to the baby, and despite claiming that she could never sleep during the day, was asleep within five minutes. Meg brewed up a pot of chamomile tea and poured a cup for both her and Mrs. Murdoch.

"Thank you," Mrs. Murdoch said with a sigh of relief, accepting the steaming mug from Meg. "I've been just about at my wit's end these days. My husband is always off with his cronies if he's not in his boat, and Henry—my eldest boy—is always with him. I hate to put so much on Sally, but what can I do?"

Meg listened to her talk about how difficult it was to make ends meet, how her husband drank up every spare penny she could tuck away, how she wanted to give Sally a chance at a better life but just couldn't see her way to it … the weary woman talked on and on, seeming to find great release in spilling her worries to this quiet, sympathetic-eyed young woman.

"Well!" she finally said, pulling up short. "I'm sure you didn't want to hear all that. I'm sorry, Missus. It's just the relief of having someone I can talk to, I guess."

Meg reached over and squeezed Mrs. Murdoch's thin, work-hardened hand. "I hope you always feel you can talk to me, Mrs. Murdoch," she said with obvious sincerity. "Will—that is, Mr. Ashton—and I are starting to realise that we haven't been the best of neighbours here. We'd like to remedy that."

Mrs. Murdoch squeezed Meg's hand back. "You've been a good neighbour to me and mine today, Missus."


	9. Chapter 9

Meg stood beside Will in the church foyer on a snowy December morning with a far different feeling in her heart than she'd experienced their first Sunday at the Grey Harbour church. Then, she had been awkward and nervous, not knowing anybody and feeling overdressed.

Now, she smiled and greeted everyone by name, whispering to Mrs. Murdoch that there was a basket of food on the table in the porch for her, impulsively hugging Miss Beth as she came by, asking Leon Moiret when he was going to take her ice fishing, catching Natalie's eye and waving her over.

"Mrs. Ashton?" Natalie asked.

"Natalie, I wondered if you had any plans for tomorrow," Meg said.

Natalie shook her head, looking puzzled. "No."

"I already asked Miss Beth if she could spare you for the day—if you were so inclined—and I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to accompany me to town for the day."

Now Natalie looked faintly wary as well as puzzled. "You want me to go to town with you?"

"If you want," Meg clarified. She still wasn't sure why she was doing this. True, she did need to get her Christmas shopping done, and she couldn't get everything she needed at Mrs. Callum's general store, and true, Will didn't want her going up by herself and couldn't accompany her himself, but still. Most people would have expected her to ask Aurore—the "good" sister, the one who went out of her way to be polite to Meg and Will every time she saw them, the one who had experienced life in the outside world and could talk to them on their level.

All true, but Meg still didn't like Aurore. It was as simple as that. And despite everything, she _did_ like Natalie. She didn't know why—Natalie was as cold as common courtesy would permit her to be to Meg, and had even stopped flirting with Will to present him with a stony profile every week. Her reputation, though protected somewhat by Miss Beth, was still none too good in the village, as Meg had learned over the last few months. Mrs. Murdoch had shared with her the common opinion of all the women, that Aurore was a saint, and without her and Miss Beth Natalie would be burning in hell right now.

"Aurore has picked up after Natalie their entire lives," Mrs. Murdoch had said. "Even when they were children, it was Natalie who would break one of the other children's toys, and Aurore who would come along later and apologize and offer to replace it. Natalie doesn't deserve her for a sister, and that's a fact. When Aurore left for the war, we all thought Natalie would go completely wild, with her only restraint removed. Thankfully Miss Beth saw the problem and took her in before anything terrible could happen."

With all that, Meg still believed there was something more to Natalie than everyone else believed or saw, and she told herself that she would keep offering friendship until Natalie finally accepted it.

"Besides," she argued neatly to Will when he remonstrated with her about associating with the village Magdalen, "The Lord himself said he came to call not the righteous, but the sinners."

"You're twisting the Scriptures to suit your own ends," Will protested, but he did so laughingly and kissed her. "Admit it; you simply have a soft spot for society's outcasts."

"Somebody has to," Meg answered seriously.

All this ran through her mind in the time it took Natalie to decide whether or not to accept her invitation.

"Very well," Natalie finally said, just when Meg was sure she was going to refuse.

"Wonderful!" Meg said, breathing out a silent sigh of relief. "Miss Beth even said she would lend us her car, since Will and I don't have one yet. Shall we meet at North Wind at nine?"

Natalie nodded.

"I'll see you there," Meg said, and immediately had to turn and speak with one of the older women in the church who wanted to ask why Reverend never preached fire and damnation, like the old Reverend did.

* * *

Miss Beth came out to the front porch to bid the girls farewell. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders as protection from the sharp wind, and still shivered. "Be careful, girls," she said, a little anxiously. "I smell a storm coming in."

Natalie smiled fondly at the older woman. "Don't fret, Miss Beth. It's not an all-day drive like it was in your day. It should only take us a couple of hours to get to Summerside."

"Well, if the weather takes a turn for the worse while you're there, find a place to stay and wait to come home," Miss Beth ordered. "It would be a nasty early Christmas surprise for your families to find your bodies frozen in a ditch somewhere just because you thought you could out-drive the weather."

"Yes ma'am," Natalie said. She kissed Miss Beth's cheek and slid into the driver's seat next to Meg. "Are you sure you don't want to drive?" she asked.

Meg shook her head. She knew how to drive, but she'd never much cared for it. When she had to keep her focus on the road she couldn't appreciate the beauty of the countryside flying by. "Besides," she said aloud, "I'm sure you're more familiar with Miss Beth's car than I am."

"True," Natalie acknowledged.

With cheery waves to Miss Beth, the girls set off. Natalie was more relaxed than Meg had ever seen her, and for a good hour, they rode in companionable silence. Finally, Meg broke it with a laugh.

"My grandmother always says that if you can sit in silence with someone for half an hour, you can be friends. I guess this means we are doubly friends now." Natalie didn't respond, and Meg, a little hurt, asked, "_Are_ we friends, Natalie?"

When Natalie finally answered, her voice was constrained. "Nobody has ever wanted to be my friend … not a true friend, anyway," she added with a touch of cynicism. "It is difficult for me to see why someone like you would want to be friends with someone like me."

"What do you mean by that—someone like me, and someone like you?" Meg asked gently, sensing she was finally getting close to the real Natalie.

The beautiful woman shrugged, keeping her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road. "You know, Mrs. Ashton. You are the minister's wife, with a good reputation and … and a husband who loves you … and happy memories. I … well, if my sister hasn't already told you who I am, I'm sure the other village women have. Most respectable people want nothing to do with me."

"Miss Beth does," Meg pointed out.

Natalie's hard profile softened a touch. "Miss Beth is the only person in the world who has ever been kind to me. Everyone else has either scorned me or used me."

Meg paused before speaking, choosing her words with care. "It is easy enough to make empty promises. I could very well tell you that I don't scorn you, and I will not use you, and it would be true. But words don't always mean much, do they? Very little, compared with actions." She stopped, thinking of Hawk Giraud, who had promised her much and offered nothing, and Will, who gave so naturally promises were irrelevant.

"So I can only offer this: try me, Natalie Pichot. Believe it or not, I _do_ want to be your friend, a true friend, and I would value your friendship in return."

Natalie spared her a glance. "I could almost believe you," she said, returning her gaze to the road. "Though I don't understand why you want to be my friend."

"I don't know that I understand that myself," Meg said lightly. "Why do we ever want people for friends? I have found over the years that the people one expects me to like I only tolerate, and I find friends in the most unexpected corners. For that matter, why should you want to be friends with me? I can't think of one reason, yet I very much hope that you give me a chance just the same."

At that, Natalie finally laughed. "Very well, Mrs. Ashton," she said. "I will give this friendship a try. But I make no promises; I am not sure how one goes about being or having a friend."

"Well, in the first place, you have to leave off that 'Mrs. Ashton' bit. Call me Meg, _please_."

"I think I can do that—Meg."


	10. Chapter 10

With Meg's open declaration of friendship, and Natalie's promise to try to reciprocate, the girls had an unexpectedly delightful day of Christmas shopping. Neither had unlimited wealth at her command, so they spent most of their time poking into the darkest crannies and corners of all the shops for forgotten treasures, and bargaining with the shopkeepers. Between Meg sweetly pleading with the women, and Natalie charming all the men, there wasn't a store worker in all Summerside who could resist them.

They took a break partway through the day to have lunch at a charming little café downtown. Afterward they sat sipping their drinks (hot cocoa for Meg, coffee for Natalie) and watched the people going about their business on the streets outside, where a few gentle flakes of snow had just started to drift down.

"Summerside doesn't look like it's changed much, except for clothing fashions, since my grandmother's day," Meg commented.

"Is your grandmother from Summerside?" Natalie asked.

Meg shook her head. "No, but she worked here for three years before she and Granddad married. She was the principal of Summerside High School. She's told us many stories about her time here. Almost as many as she's told about her Redmond years," she concluded with a laugh. "Grandmother does so love to tell stories."

"You are very fond of your family?" Natalie's note of inquiry turned what should have been a simple statement of fact into a question.

Meg turned astonished eyes on her companion and halted the automatic "of course" that rose to her lips. There was an odd look in Natalie's eyes, almost a hint of wistfulness …

"Grandmother was an orphan," she said, coming at the subject obliquely. "Until Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert at Green Gables adopted her, she never had any find of family or love or even happiness. I think she transferred all her longing for a family when she was a child into love for the family she _did_ have as an adult. My father and aunts and uncles were much closer than most siblings, I think, because of that, and therefore we cousins are closer than most. Folks in the Glen—Glen St. Mary, where Grandmother and Granddad live—call us a 'clan,' not a family. Not that we're so much more numerous than other families, but because we hold the idea of family so tightly."

"My mum died when Aurore was ten and I eight," Natalie said abruptly, her finger tracing a line of liquid left behind by her coffee cup. "After that, my dad was always off drinking with his mates when he wasn't out in the boats. Aurore and I were left to raise ourselves. Or rather, Aurore was left to raise me." She laughed bitterly. "Most people agree she had a miserable time of it. I was just as headstrong and wild as a child as I am—I was—as a young woman. I've never known what it was like to have a close family."

"Yes you do," Meg said. At Natalie's startled look, she clarified. "You have Miss Beth."

Natalie's face softened into a smile. "Miss Beth is wonderful, of course, but …"

"One thing we Blythes have always believed is that family cannot just be measured by blood," Meg said. "I have 'aunts' and 'uncles' scattered all over Canada and beyond, to whom I'm no true relation at all. What makes family is far more than just sharing ancestors."

"I'd never thought of it like that before," Natalie admitted.

"And you have Aurore," Meg said. "Even if your relationship wasn't one of traditional sisters, you still have each other. My brother Matt is the dearest person in the world to me—almost," she said with an embarrassed laugh, recalling her new allegiance to a husband.

Again, a strange look flashed across Natalie's face. "Yes," she said, but her manner was stiff and formal again.

While Meg was trying to puzzle her companion out, she glanced out the window and gasped. "Oh my," she said.

Natalie followed her gaze to see the streets thickly covered with snow. While the two girls had talked, the skies had apparently decided to open, and a storm was rising in earnest.

"We'll never make it back to Grey Harbour in this," Natalie said in dismay.

"No," Meg agreed. "We should have listened to Miss Beth."

"What shall we do?" Natalie fretted. Meg had never seen the poised young woman look so distraught.

"The first thing to do is find a public telephone and call North Wind," she said firmly. "We can let Miss Beth know that we have decided to stay the night here, and she will find a way to tell Will, and that way neither of them will worry."

"But where will we stay?"

Meg shrugged and rose to her feet. "I'm sure someone can tell us of a place to sleep tonight. You find a telephone, and I'll ask the waiter if he knows of any available rooms."

In the face of Meg's calm authority, the panic receded from Natalie's eyes and she nodded. "Very well."

The two girls went about their separate tasks, and when they met back up at the front of the café, Meg's face was glowing.

"Miss Beth said she was relieved to hear from me," Natalie said. "It's been storming for hours there, and she was worried we'd get trapped on the road. Whatever are you looking so excited about?" she demanded curiously.

"Oh, you'll never guess," Meg said. "Remember how I told you my grandmother lived here for a few years before she and Granddad married?"

"Of course."

"The waiter told me that _the very same_ house where she stayed might have a room we could use. He said the people who live there are very hospitable, always ready to welcome strangers."

Natalie clearly did not understand Meg's excitement over seeing a piece of family history come to life before her eyes. "Good," she said briskly. "That will save us the price of a hotel room. How far is it?"

"Not far," Meg said, seizing her hand. "Come on!"

* * *

Meg's first view of Windy Poplars was everything she'd ever imagined it would be. White frame house with green shutters, a delightful stone wall separating it from the road, the tower in one corner, even the walk leading to the side door (thanks to Grandmother's stories, Meg wouldn't have dreamed of using the front door) … it was perfect.

"I thought you said it was a short walk?" Natalie muttered behind her, but Meg was too enchanted to hear. She boldly led the way to the side door and knocked, half expecting Rebecca Dew herself to open the door and ask if they had seen That Cat anywhere.

Instead, a tall woman with silver hair bound sleekly to her head and the sweetest blue eyes Meg had ever seen opened to them.

"May I help you?" she asked, her voice sounding like bell chimes.

"Are you Mrs. Carter?" Meg asked.

"I am."

"My name is Meg Ashton, this is my friend Natalie Pichot," Meg said. She proceeded to explain their predicament.

Mrs. Carter smiled delightedly. "Oh, I'm so glad! I've been longing for visitors all day; I always do when it is stormy, and I didn't think I could possibly get any with it turning so nasty out. Come in, please."

She helped them out of their coats and boots, calling, "Richard! Come see what the wind blew in!"

A man—Meg assumed he was Mr. Carter—entered the hall and beamed at them. He was even taller than his willowy wife, with pure white hair, twinkling hazel eyes, and a chin that, as Auntie Nan would say, assured the world of a chin.

"What a lovely gift," he said warmly. "Let me go fix us all something hot to drink, and Betty, don't you think this would be a good way to use up our extra scones?" He hurried off to the kitchen.

"Please don't go to any trouble," Meg started, but Mrs. Carter shook her head.

"He loves to potter in the kitchen," she said. "Any excuse will do."

"How odd!" Natalie said, coming out of her shell temporarily. "I've never known a man who was willing to do women's work."

Mrs. Carter laughed. "Oh, Richard has had to endure a great deal of ribbing on his hobby, but if he enjoys it, why should he forbid himself? Especially since, quite frankly, I loathe cooking."

Meg had already made up her mind that Mr. and Mrs. Carter were of Joseph's race. "What do you enjoy?" she asked.

"Painting. Weaving. Sculpture. Anything artistic," she said. "Would you like to see some of my work while Richard is preparing our snack?"

The girls followed her into the parlour. Natalie's eyes immediately lit up.

"Ooh," she breathed. "Did you do all these?"

"Yes," Mrs. Carter said simply. "Do you like them?"

Meg stood back. No artist herself, she could only admire on the surface the tapestries hanging on the walls, the pictures decorating the mantelpiece, and the abstract sculptures standing here and there. Natalie, however, lost all her reserve and fired a battery of questions at Mrs. Carter, who did her best to answer all of them. The two were deep in a discussion of the best kind of clay to use when Mr. Carter returned with the food and drink.

"Here," he said, handing a cup and plate to Meg. "We might as well eat. When my wife gets discussing art with another artist, there's no stopping her. They could be at this for hours."

"I didn't even know Natalie was an artist," Meg marvelled.

Natalie heard her name and broke off with an embarrassed laugh. "I'm not," she confessed. "We had a teacher once at the harbour school who taught us a little, which was enough to spark my interest, but everything else I've just picked up from Miss Beth's books."

"You are an artist whether you've had formal training or not," Mrs. Carter said. "Goodness, child, a blind man could see your passion!"

"Now then, Eliza, let the lassies sit and rest for a few moments," Mr. Carter said.

Meg's ears pricked. "Eliza?" she asked. "I don't mean to be rude, but … didn't you call her Betty before?"

Mrs. Carter smiled again. "My given name is Elizabeth, and Richard and I shorten it according to our mood. It's rather delightful having a name you can do that with."

Now Meg's thumbs pricked as well, but before she could pursue the matter, Natalie spotted a portrait tucked away behind the other pictures on the mantel and jumped up to investigate, her scone forgotten. "Did you do this?" she asked. "It's marvellous."

"One of my few attempts at realism," Mrs. Carter said. "It's not a direction I usually take, but Gray—our son, Grayson—did so want a family picture."

Meg promptly forgot the picture, though it was an exquisitely rendered pen-and-ink drawing of a handsome man and woman surrounded by three children in various stages of growing up. "You _are_ Little Elizabeth!" she cried.

Mrs. Carter looked startled. "Goodness, nobody has called me that in years. How did you …?"

"Anne Shirley Blythe is my grandmother," Meg said succinctly, and she watched a delighted smile grow across Mrs. Carter's—Little Elizabeth's—face until she was practically glowing.

"Miss Shirley's granddaughter here, in my house!" she cried. "Oh Richard!"

"I've heard many a story about your grandmother," Mr. Carter informed Meg. "All of them wonderful."

"However did you come to own Windy Poplars?" Meg asked.

"After the widows died, it came up for sale. I had spent so many happy hours here with Miss Shirley—the only happy hours of my childhood, until Father came and took me away—that I couldn't bear the thought of it going to strangers. So Richard agreed, and we bought it and moved here, and have been thoroughly happy ever since."

"Not," Mr. Carter added, "that we weren't thoroughly happy before."

"Well, well," Mrs. Carter said. "This has turned out to be a lovely day. Not only did the storm deposit two visitors, it graced us with both an old friend's kin and a budding artist."

And if Meg hadn't already loved Mrs. Carter for being Little Elizabeth, she would have loved her forever for that simple inclusion of Natalie into their little circle.

For Natalie had been starting to withdraw at all this effusive placing of connectors, and with that one graceful sentence, Mrs. Carter drew her right back in.

It was the sort of thing Rose Greye, Meg's school chum, did effortlessly, and something for which Meg strove, that sensitivity to others.

It served to confirm everything Grandmother had ever said about Little Elizabeth Grayson, now Carter.


	11. Chapter 11

That night, Meg and Natalie slept in Windy Poplars' spare room, snuggled warmly under an old-fashioned patchwork quilt while the storm howled outside.

"Meg," Natalie whispered sometime after midnight.

"Mm-phm," Meg muttered.

"Are you awake?"

Meg struggled out of her sleep. She wasn't really awake—if it had been Will or Polly or almost anyone else who had asked her that she would have snapped something quite angry (for even the mildest of people may growl when awakened suddenly), but even in her befuddled state she sensed that Natalie had something important to say.

She stretched out her hand for the water glass Mrs. Carter had left beside the bed. The cold water helped jolt her fully awake. "What is it?" she asked coherently.

"Did—did you hear Mrs. Carter say she'd take me on as a student?"

"Yes, I think it's wonderful," Meg said, wondering a little grumpily why Natalie had dragged her out of sleep for this. When Mrs. Carter learned how easy it was for Natalie to get to Summerside, she offered to work with her once a week on learning technique and honing the skill Natalie so clearly had.

"I know Miss Beth won't mind giving me an extra day off," Natalie said. "But Meg—would you mind awfully not telling anyone else about it?"

"Of course not," Meg said. She thought it was charming that Natalie was so shy about her gift. "Except Will, you know. I don't think I could keep a secret from him, even if I wanted to."

"I don't mind Will, but … I don't want Aurore to find out."

That effectively killed any lingering remnants of sleep for Meg. "Why not? I should think she'd be happy for you."

Pause. Then:

"Aurore and I have an—unusual relationship. She—I—"

"Natalie," Meg said gently, "you don't have to say anything more if you don't want to. I don't need to understand everything between you and your sister. If you want me to keep silent, I will. And Will won't say anything, either."

"Thank you," Natalie said. "And—I'm sorry about—you know—how I acted around Rev. Ashton. I didn't really mean anything by it. I think—I think it's just habit."

"If I was worried about you trying to steal my husband, I wouldn't have asked you to be my friend," Meg said lightly. "Don't fret about it."

"You are a good person, Meg Ashton," Natalie said. "I didn't think people like you really existed."

Meg laughed to cover her embarrassment. "If we don't get to sleep, neither of us will be good for anything in the morning."

Natalie chuckled politely, and the two quieted down. Just before drifting back off, Meg remembered something.

"Natalie, what if Miss Beth says something to Aurore about your art lessons?"

"She won't," Natalie said. "She understands how things are between us. That's one reason why she's let me stay on at North Wind, even now that Aurore is home. She doesn't really need a housekeeper, but … she knows that I need her."

"I see."

Meg didn't see or understand half of it, but she told herself that she didn't need to in order to be Natalie's friend.

She did hope, though, that someday Natalie would feel comfortable enough to give her the whole story.

* * *

By the next morning, the storm had passed and the roads were clear enough for driving. Mr. and Mrs. Carter saw the girls off after a hearty breakfast prepared by Mr. Carter, while Mrs. Carter tucked several art treasures into the car for Grandmother Blythe, Miss Beth, and sundry other persons, including a small bronze sculpture, all waves and soft edges that reminded Meg, for some reason, of a whale, for Meg and Will. When Meg tried to protest at such a valuable gift, Mrs. Carter waved her off.

"The only thing that gives my work value is the love that I put into it, and the joy that others get from it. You love this piece, I can tell—" Meg had eyed it all evening— "and so I want you to have it."

Faced with such an argument, Meg had no choice but to accept with sincere thanks. As she and Natalie drove off, she craned her neck around for one more look at the delightful couple ... Mr. Carter with his white hair gleaming like the fresh snow in the winter sun, and Mrs Carter looking remarkably like the stories of Little Elizabeth from long ago, her sweet blue eyes shining with warmth as she waved goodbye.

"What a wonderful adventure!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it nice to think that coincidences really do happen, still, and that they can be so lovely?"

"Is there anything in life you don't think is lovely?" Natalie asked, her lips curling in amusement.

"Many things," Meg answered soberly. "The aftermath of this war ... especially in Japan, where Matt is trying to help repair some of the very great damage we caused. The suffering of all the people in Europe. The fact that my grandparents are getting older. The look in Will's eyes sometimes, when he's reliving losing his arm, and knowing that I cannot help him. Seeing the suffering and the poverty in Grey Harbour, and not being able to make it better.

"The world is full of ugliness, Natalie, which is why occasions like meeting the Carters are so precious."

Natalie glanced at Meg from the corner of her eye, then returned her attention to the road. "I'm beginning to realise I was wrong about you in just about every way."

"How so?"

"Well, when we first met, I thought you were one of those horrible optimists, who went around smiling at everything and thinking everything was beautiful, with your eyes closed to reality, ignoring all the bad things so that you could stay in your comfortable delusions."

"Goodness. No wonder you were so unfriendly."

Natalie laughed. "I'm glad to be wrong, for once in my life."

Meg smiled at her. "I'm just glad you decided to give me a chance after all."

"Most people would say it was the other way around--that you were the one to give the 'Harbour Magdalen' a chance."

Meg shuddered at the cold note that crept into Natalie's voice. "Don't call yourself that, my friend."

"Why not? Everyone else does."

"Miss Beth doesn't, and neither do Will or I. We don't even think of you that way."

"And how do you think of me, then?" Natalie's voice wasn't challenging or bitter, anymore. It was rather wistful, in fact.

"Before, I thought of you as someone who needed hope. Now? Now I think of you simply as my friend."

"A friend," Natalie said. "Yes, I think I like that."

Meg smiled at her again. "So do I."


	12. Chapter 12

Will and Meg had discussed returning to Green Gables for Christmas, but in the end, he decided he really couldn't make it work along with doing the Christmas services at church. So, on a snowy afternoon a few days before Christmas, a tall, brown-haired, brown-skinned man with a keen expression stepped out of a beat-up pickup truck and looked in amazement at the hideous pink house disfiguring the winter landscape.

"Papa!"

Meg flew out the front door and launched herself into Shirley's arms. "We weren't expecting you for another couple days! Oh, I haven't done any housecleaning--the guest room isn't half ready--and the house isn't even fully decorated yet--"

"Meg!" Shirley took her by the shoulders and shook her playfully. "Do you think I care about any of that? Child, I'm so glad to see you I don't care if I have to sleep in a barn."

"We won't shut the door to the inn on you quite yet, Papa," Meg said with a saucy smile. She hugged him again. "I'm glad you're here early. It'll be more fun to finish the decorating with you here."

Shirley draped his arm around his little girl's shoulders and walked up the steps to the house. "I got too lonely for my children, so I just decided to surprise you a few days early. This house is--interesting, Meg."

"Oh Papa, isn't it too dreadful? It's ugly inside and out, and nothing we do can make it any more attractive. Will keeps reminding me it's just temporary, and as long as I don't think too much about Green Gables or Tanglewood I can endure it."

"Can't you paint it, at least?"

Meg shook her head. "We're only renting it, so we can't make any major changes."

"Hm," Shirley said, looking at the tiny kitchen and dark living room.

"But the house doesn't matter, Papa, not as long as we love each other and everyone who steps through the door. That's what Grandmother wrote to me when I told her about the PA, and I try to remind myself of that every day."

"PA?"

"Oh--that's short for Pink Abomination. That's what Will and Natalie and I call this place."

"And who's Natalie?"

Meg stopped short and laughed. "Oh Papa, I forget that you don't know absolutely everything. Some things are so hard to write. Sit down, and I'll make us some tea and fill you in on all the details of our life since we moved here to Grey Harbour." She stopped and hugged him again. "It is good to have you here, Papa."

* * *

Will echoed the same sentiment when he returned from his ice fishing expedition later that afternoon to find his father-in-law comfortably ensconced in the kitchen while his wife made supper with a brighter face than he'd ever seen her wear while trying to work in that horrible room.

"Somehow things just feel more like home now, sir--I mean, Dad," Will said, pumping Shirley's hand with his.

"I have to confess that things back in Avonlea haven't felt much like home without you kids, either," Shirley said.

"Oh Papa, tell Will what you told me about Polly and Elliot, and all the other family news nobody's bothered to write to me since I left."

Shirley hid a grimace. For a man who hated to speak as much as he did, repeating information he's already shared once was akin to torture--but he'd do worse for his daughter.

"Elliot came home a few weeks ago. He and Polly and Davie are spending a bit of time right now in Glen St. Mary, with Mary Douglas, but Elliot says he doesn't want to settle in the Glen. He doesn't want to live in Avonlea, either."

"Where does he want to settle, then?" Will asked, settling into the chair across the table from Shirley and stretching his legs out.

"He doesn't seem to have decided yet, but Polly told us that he thinks it would be best for all of them if they started fresh somewhere, in a place where they didn't have any family."

"I think that's a good plan," Meg declared, turning from the stove, her cheeks flushed with heat. "They need a chance to get to know each other, without family's well-meaning interference."

"Or not so well-meaning," Shirley said wryly, thinking of Mary Vance Douglas. "I always did think Elliot was a sensible lad; now I'm sure of it."

"And oh, Papa, tell Will about Johnny."

Shirley smiled. "It seems our Johnny's found himself a fiancee."

Will's jaw dropped. He'd only met the black sheep of the Blythe-Meredith-Ford clan once, but he'd heard enough about him from Meg to feel like he knew him well. "Johnny?"

"She's a Welsh lass, a nurse he met when he was recovering from his injuries," Shirley said.

"Papa says they're planning to get married sometime next year, and then they're talking about moving back to Avonlea, to help Papa with Green Gables until Matt comes home, when they'll either buy their own farm in Avonlea, or move somewhere close by!" Meg's eyes were sparkling with delight.

"Well, well," Will said. "Good for Johnny."

"Nan in torn between being pleased that Johnny's finally going to return home, and nervousness about this Welsh girl he's marrying," Shirley said, his tone showing his opinion of such foolishness.

"Papa says her name is Angharad. Isn't that a lovely name?"

"Almost as lovely as Margaret," Will conceded, causing his wife to stop her work and kiss him, which in turn caused Shirley to beam slightly fatuously at the two of them.

Family news took up the rest of the evening: Peter and Jocelyn and Evie were doing well, and Jane and Lewis were starting to make plans to move out to England in the spring, where they would join Bran and start their new life. Uncle Patrick's heart was improving, though the doctors still warned against ever doing any more farm work.

Dee was the belle of Ottawa; Lily and Freddie's wedding plans were progressing nicely; Walter and Gil had both come home; and Grandfather Irving had sent a Christmas package along for Will and Meg.

"Grandmamma hasn't forgiven us yet?" Meg asked.

Shirley's mouth twisted in disgust. "That woman holds a grudge longer than anyone I've ever known, including my mother and my sister Nan."

"Grandmother Thornton won't speak to me, either," Will said. "Personally, I think if they're only going to disapprove, I'd just soon they be silent."

Shirley had to laugh. "Well said."

When they finally exhausted family news, the talk turned to Will and Meg's experiences at Grey Harbour. Shirley marvelled, listening to them, at how they had changed and grown just in the few short months since they married and left Avonlea. The lessons they had learned took most people years to absorb, and some never learned them at all. He was prouder than he could possibly express of these, his daughter and his son-by-marriage.

"Miss Beth has invited us all to come over after church on Christmas Eve," Meg said. "If you'd rather stay home, we can, but I know she'd like to meet you."

"And I her," Shirley said. "Certainly we can go."

The three talked long into the night, staggering up the stairs to their respective bedrooms well after midnight. As Shirley shut the door behind him and looked around the dark, depressing room, he was amazed anew at how the children had managed to rise above their unpleasant circumstances and not only find joy, but bring joy to others.

They were a noble inheritance.

* * *

The next few days flew by--Will took Shirley out ice-fishing with some of the men one day, and Shirley was pleased to see how his son-in-law had earned a place with these hard-bitten men, not by his prodigious skills, but simply by his unfailing good humour and hard work ethic. Meg showed her father around the village, introducing him to several of the families with whom she visited on a regular basis, condoling and counselling them, and generally bringing cheer simply with her bright smile and kind words.

Shirley found, to his surprise, that he liked and appreciated these simple fisher-folk of Grey Harbour. In the Glen, the village children had been raised with rather a scorn of the "vulgar" fishing families. Now he was learning that perhaps that prejudice had kept him from seeing their many good traits--the way that they worked, their impressive knowledge of the sea, and how fully they lived their lives, both for good and for ill.

He had, if he was perfectly honest, been slightly disappointed when he found out Will was taking a position in a "rude" fishing village. He didn't care at all for the idea of his precious girl exposed to their "vulgarities." He had only kept himself from objecting by reminding himself that it wasn't permanent, and that Will would protect Meg almost as well as Shirley himself could do.

It seemed, though, that his children had discovered the beauty that lay beneath the surface of these fishing families, and Shirley was more than a little ashamed of the blind prejudice he'd borne his entire life, without even realising it.

On Christmas Eve, Shirley and Will set up the tree. It was a little, scrubby thing, and they'd had to search far afield to even find that, but as it was their first Christmas tree, Meg and Will thought it perfect. Meg baked Christmas cookies all day while "her" men were out tree-hunting, and then all three spent the afternoon hanging ornaments while listening to Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra on their new turntable phonograph (Shirley's Christmas present to them--he couldn't resist giving it early).

Meg had made most of the ornaments by hand, with gold and silver paper, wire, and bits of bright fabric. Here and there were certain special ornaments: Meg's angel ornament that looked left, matching Matt's that looked right; Will's copper cross which formerly belonged to his mother; the star that had always topped Green Gables' tree, now formally bequeathed to Meg and Will by Shirley. As a final touch, Shirley hung the snowflake ornament Meg remembered seeing on their tree ever since she was born. Shirley never spoke about it, but sensitive Meg always knew intuitively that it was somehow a memento of Cecily, her beloved Mama.

When they were finished, the scrubby tree was transformed into a thing of beauty, and had itself transformed the PA into a cosy little home. Shirley put one arm around Meg's shoulders and one around Will's.

"You children are amazing, you know that? You've turned this place into a home."

Meg smiled, then sniffed.

"Dinner!" She dashed out to the kitchen.

Will checked his pocket-watch. "Gosh, I've got to finish preparing my sermon for this evening." He vanished too, leaving Shirley smiling whimsically at a delicate silver snowflake twinkling on the tree.

* * *

They ate an early dinner before heading out to church for the Christmas Eve service. Meg apologised in advance to Shirley for leaving him to sit alone, but, she explained, because it was a special service with more music than usual, she was going to be at the piano the entire time.

As soon as they entered the building, however, Shirley was stopped by a tall, brown-eyes woman with stern features belied by a warm smile.

"Mr. Blythe?" Her voice was clear and decisive, and Shirley instantly knew he liked her.

"Indeed. And you, I would venture to guess, are the famous Miss Beth."

She raised an eyebrow. "Infamous, perhaps," she said dryly. "Mr. Blythe, as the children are fully occupied with running the service, would you care to sit with Natie and me?"

Shirley surprised himself by giving a slight bow--somehow, this woman brought out all his courtly instincts, instincts he'd thought long-ago abandoned in the war. "It would be my honour."

She laughed. "I can see why Meg married Will--you and your son-in-law are very similar."

"How so?"

"Both too charming for your own good!"

Shirley laughed and escorted her to the front of the church, where a dark-haired young woman awaited them. He recognised her from Meg's description as Natalie Pichot, both beautiful and troubled. Miss Beth performed the introductions, and then Shirley was free to sit back and observe everyone and everything.

He'd wondered, at first, why Meg had chosen to wear a simple pine-green skirt and cream sweater to a special service; in Avonlea, everyone wore his or her Christmas finest on Christmas Eve. Now, looking at the other women filing in, all dressed in plain, dark clothing, he understood. Will, too, looked only a tad more dressed up than the majority of the men, in his everyday suit without a tie.

More than his children's sensitivity, Shirley was delighted to see, once again, the rapport they had developed with the people of Grey Harbour. Meg smiled and waved at various people from her seat at the old piano, and Will had to rush to get to the pulpit in time, he was so busy talking to some of the men.

Miss Beth smiled at the obvious pride on Shirley's face. "They belong here, now, those two. You have every right to be proud. They've done amazingly well."

Shirley shook his head. "I only wish I could take credit."

Nothing more was said just then, as the service began. Tears pricked at the backs of Shirley's eyes when he heard his daughter's voice rising above all the rest in song. It had been far too long since that beloved voice had rung in the rafters at Green Gables. As proud as he was of her and Will, and all they had accomplished in their married life thus far, he knew he would never quite get over missing his little girl.


	13. Chapter 13

After the service, quite the little crowd walked to The House, as Meg still lovingly called North Wind. Meg, Will, and Shirley joined Miss Beth and Natalie, and at the last minute Aurore attached herself to the group.

"Aurore! I didn't know you were coming," Miss Beth said.

Aurore smiled, but no warmth reached her eyes. "Didn't Natalie mention it?"

Glancing at Natalie's tight features, Meg was struck with the sudden suspicion that she hadn't mentioned it because she hadn't, in fact, invited Aurore. Miss Beth seemed to have the same suspicion, for her voice grew very dry as she said,

"No, it must have slipped her mind."

"I'm sure you were thinking of other things--or other people," Aurore said, sliding her arm through Natalie's and squeezing.

The words were harmless in and of themselves, but Aurore's tone hinted at other, less savoury meanings. Natalie didn't blink, but Meg flushed in sudden anger on her friend's behalf. Will, still pondering whether he'd made his final point in the message clear enough, didn't notice, but Shirley did and laid a gentle hand on Meg's arm. She took a quick breath in and smiled at her father. She wouldn't let Aurore's ugly insinuations spoil this night.

And, although Aurore made several similar verbal jabs at Natalie all evening, it was a lovely time. By unspoken agreement, the rest of the company completely ignored Aurore every time she said something about Natalie, and instead focused on enjoying each other's company. Miss Beth made Meg sit down at the piano and lead them all in singing Christmas carols, they feasted on Natalie's delicious hors d'oeuvres and Miss Beth's special Christmas punch, and Will read to them all out of the Gospel of Luke the account of the Lord's birth. Shirley, as he always did wherever he was, made himself quietly useful by stoking the fire, refilling plates and cups, and generally anticipating people's needs before they even realised them.

Sadly, the weather turned warm as the evening wore on, and by the time the Ashtons and Shirley left, it was raining out.

"How miserable," Miss Beth said, coming out onto the porch to see them off. "Christmas never seems right when the snow is gone."

"No matter," said Will, who had spent a couple Christmases in Africa, "at least we're all together. That's what really matters."

At the last minute, Aurore decided to walk back with them as far as her house.

"I thought Natalie would come home with me," she told Meg, "but she told me just before I left that she didn't think she could leave Miss Beth alone at Christmas." She glanced sideways at Meg. "If she's abandoning her own sister for the holiday, do you suppose there's something more in it? I've heard," lowering her voice, "that she's been going somewhere on her days out from Miss Beth's … and nobody seems to know where. I hope she's not meeting a man. I did think she was better … but I suppose one can't change one's nature. Obviously, something is going on she doesn't want me to know about."

Meg could have enlightened her, but, remembering her promise to Natalie, merely said, "I don't think she's doing anything wrong, and I think it is wonderful that she's willing to forgo a family Christmas to keep Miss Beth company."

"Well, when you put it like that …" Aurore didn't have a chance to say anything more, as they had arrived at her house by now.

"Well, Happy Christmas to you all," she said.

"The same to you," Will said.

They walked on. Shirley waited only until they were out of earshot before saying vehemently,

"What a poisonous little minx that older Pichot girl is! I'd almost think her related to the Pyes."

"She is vicious, isn't she," Will agreed. "For all Natalie's bad reputation, I'd rather call her a friend than Aurore, any day of the week."

Meg didn't say anything, but inwardly she was relieved, though surprised, to hear her father and husband echoing her very thoughts about Aurore. She'd worried slightly that she was being uncharitable in her dislike of the girl--now she knew it wasn't just her. She had rarely heard her father speak so bluntly about anyone, nor Will, and she knew that Aurore's character must have shaken both of them deeply for them to speak so about her.

"Well, let's not worry about her now," she said, linking her arms through Will's and Shirley's. "It's Christmas!"

* * *

Two days later, Shirley reluctantly took his leave of the young couple. It had been a lovely Christmas, practically perfect, but now he had to get back to Avonlea and Green Gables.

"Tell Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick we love them," Meg said. "And come back to visit soon! It's so hard for us to get away, because of the church, but we've always got a room for you."

Shirley smiled, and hugged her, and wished he could somehow express all the love he bore for them. One look in Meg's brown eyes, though, and he knew that she understood.

He got into the rattly old truck and drove away, carrying with him a memory of his children standing on the front doorstep of a truly hideous pink house, Will's arm around Meg's shoulder, both smiling with genuine love and joy.

The Ashtons saw the old year out with Miss Beth and Natalie at North Wind. Aurore was not in attendance this time, and the night was full of laughter and fun. Natalie thawed more than she ever had around Will before--and not in her old flirtatious way, either. She responded to his brotherly teasing with a pointed wit of her own, sketched portraits of all of them (Meg was sure hers was far too flattering, but the other three insisted it was accurate), and laughed fully and richly.

"How are the art lessons coming, Picasso?" Will inquired lazily, stretching his legs out in front of the fire.

"I think I'm working on my Rose Period," Natalie said, hands busily working at her sketch pad. "Don't move, Meg."

"Painting flowers now, are we?"

"No," she laughed. "But Mrs. Carter has taken me from my gloomier style into something that's rather more hopeful, more … life-full, I guess."

"That sounds more pleasant," Meg said.

Natalie "tsked" at her. "Oh, now you've gone and spoiled the expression! Here, look at your husband, then at least I can be sure I'll get your smile."

"I think I'm the one getting the smile," Will said, shining a smile of his own at his wife.

Meg's lips curled up involuntarily. Natalie was right--she couldn't look at Will without smiling.

Nor would she want to.

When the clock chimed midnight, Miss Beth rose somewhat stiffly from her chair. "I used to be able to do this sort of thing more easily," she murmured, crossing to the front door and opening it.

"Welcome, 1946," she said. "The first new year of peace. May it last."

"Amen," Will murmured.

* * *

With the holidays over, life for Meg and Will returned to its usual smooth pace. No matter how busy they each got with their other projects and friends, they never quite got over the fact that they were newlyweds. Every evening that weather permitted, just as the day turned to dark, they walked hand-in-hand through the village, down to the beach to look out across the harbour, and back home.

At first, the people of Grey Harbour had thought this a slightly scandalous habit--a minister and his wife holding hands in public! Now, though, they merely smiled affectionately and bid Reverend and Missus a cheery "good night" if their paths crossed.

Most evenings, if Will didn't have to pay calls, or Meg visit anyone in need, they would sit together in their dim parlour. Some nights they each would pull a book from Will's boxes and read silently; sometimes Will read aloud while Meg sewed or knitted; sometimes they played music on the phonograph and just sat together and dreamed.

Meg was amazed at how little she missed home. Oh, she longed for her Papa, of course. Not a day went past that she didn't wish she could just chat with him, ask him any little question, talk to him about his day. And she did still miss Green Gables' pantry and kitchen every time she prepared a meal.

Overall, though, she was perfectly content. Her friendship with Natalie was growing and blossoming; Miss Beth was a wonderful mentor and guide (and friend); and the people of Grey Harbour were as rich and varied and delightful in their own way as any of Avonlea's inhabitants.

More than all that, though, was the joy of being with Will. Meg had never imagined being married could bring so much happiness. She had never been the type to sit and dream about being married when she was a little girl. Whenever her cousins would talk about their future husbands and children, and what their weddings were going to be like, Meg would quietly scamper away to go play with Johnny and Matt, or wander through the woods and fields by herself, letting her imagination run wild.

Now, though, she couldn't imagine what life would be like not being married to Will. He was more than a husband: he was her best friend, closer even than Matt or Peter or Rose had ever been, or any combination thereof. No matter how much fun she had cross-country skiing over the fields with Natalie, or curling up dreamily before the fire at The House; no matter how much good she felt she was doing by visiting people and helping them and learning from them; no matter what else brought her joy in the day, her favourite part of the entire day was when the rest of the world was done, and she and Will were together, just the two of them.

Not that everything was sunshine and roses all the time--they certainly had their spats. Even Will, that most good-natured of men, got irritable, even grumpy, if a sermon didn't go together properly, or he had to deal with a particularly recalcitrant parishioner. Even Meg, that most sweet-tempered lady, felt frustration at times at how much time Will spent on ministerial matters, leaving her alone.

Those quarrels never lasted long: Will would come out of his sulks and apologise, bringing Meg flowers with his sheepish grin; Meg would repent of her selfishness and make his favourite meal. Ultimately, they knew, it wasn't about the presents or the food--the fact that the other was always willing to acknowledge when he or she was wrong was what made their marriage stronger. At least, that was what Miss Beth had told them, and they had lived long enough in Grey Harbour to know that she was always right.

In all ways, Meg thought she had been blessed with the happiest marriage she could ever have possibly imagined.

If asked, Will would have said the same thing. Meg never did need to ask, though--their bond was strong enough that she knew it without asking.


	14. Chapter 14

The letter arrived one windy March evening. Meg didn't think too much of it when Will brought the mail in--Matt usually wrote every week, so a letter from him was no surprise. He was keeping well, winning all sorts of friends. He had had a little garden of his own the previous year, made from seeds Shirley had sent from Green Gables, and his fresh vegetables were so popular that he soon found himself the most sought-after fellow in the squadron. Even the higher-ups heard about it, discovering somehow that he was a farmer, and asked him if he could get more seeds, enough to start a large garden, one that could feed all of them.

Things are bad here, he had written in his last letter, and we hate taking food away from the Japanese. Some of them are starving, really starving, and if we can feed ourselves it frees up the food they produce for them.

Not only Shirley and Patrick, but all of Avonlea had risen to that plea, and large parcels of seeds had flown from Prince Edward Island to Japan after that.

So Meg opened his letter now, a little curious, but not expecting anything grand. She did wonder if he had been in any danger or received any sort of honour about a month previously--she had thought about him all day, for no particular reason, and wondered if their twin bond still held across all those oceans, after so many years.

_Dear Meg,_ he began, his black handwriting slanting cheerfully across the page, _How are you and Will and Grey Harbour? Enjoying the tail end of a Canadian winter? It's been a beautiful winter here, lots of snow and ice. I'm eager for spring, though, so we can start our squadron farm._

_I don't think there's any graceful way to segue into the news I have for you, sister mine. I've thought and thought, and I can only tell you baldly. Please don't jump to any conclusions until you read the entire story. Then, jump away._

_I'm married._

Meg shrieked and dropped the letter as though it was on fire.

"What?" Will said, dashing into the kitchen. "What? Are you hurt?"

Meg could only mutely point to the letter. Will picked it up and scanned the first few lines anxiously. Meg could tell when he reached Matt's announcement: his blue eyes widened in shock and his mouth pursed up in a whistle.

"You okay, honey?" he asked Meg, setting the letter down and putting his arm around her in a comforting hug.

Meg rested her head on his shoulder until the world stopped whirling around her. "I think I will be. Let me finish reading the letter before I tell you for certain."

"Mind if I read over your shoulder?"

She shook her head, picked the letter back up, and they both continued to read.

_I haven't told you—or Pop—much about the nastier side of things here. Mainly that's because I don't want you worrying about me, but also, well, I don't like talking about it. The other fellows have learned not to ask me to join them when they make their excursions into the villages and cities, because I won't participate in those activities. I don't want to set myself up as better than them, or anyone, or judge them, but Meg, it's wrong to use women for your pleasure, I don't care if it is an ancient tradition. It's still wrong. Well, I don't need to convince you of it. Even you, my mildest of sisters, would want to ride in on a white charger and slash your sword in the name of justice._

_Anyway, I was out with some of my buddies who think the same way as I do—one's the chaplain, Jeremy Watts, a good fellow, I think Will would like him—and one's my buddy Mac Grant; I've mentioned him before, a farmer from New England, the one who knows Aunt Betsy's family. We usually avoid the areas the others populate, but, well, Jeremy's wife had just had a baby boy, and we'd been celebrating, and I guess our senses of direction were off. No, I was not drunk. Just a little tipsy._

_Well, we heard a scuffle going on in an alley, and saw three men attacking a girl. They weren't our boys, they were Japanese, but it still got our blood up, and we waded in. The three of us made short work of them. Jeremy speaks Japanese, so he spoke to the girl and told her she was safe, asked her where her family was and if we could take her back home._

_That's when things got complicated. Apparently, her family sold her to the brothel. They were starving, needed the money, and she was the least of the daughters. The three men we'd beaten unconscious were the brothel guards. She'd been trying to escape—she'd only been there one night—and they were taking her back._

_We've been told, time and time again, not to interfere with the way the Japanese do things. It's their culture, their nation, and we are merely here to help rebuild, not change them. This? This was interference on a large scale. Three American Air Force—the fact that two were mechanics and one a chaplain wouldn't matter—kidnapping a prostitute from a brothel, especially after "public prostitution" has been officially banned, attacking the guards in the process … Jeremy could just see how it would play out._

_Mac's the fastest, he went back to let an officer know what had happened. Jeremy didn't think we should just leave, he said we needed to make this right. Besides, the girl was terrified, and we couldn't leave her._

_I tried talking to her while we waited. She only knew broken English, and my Japanese is practically non-existent, but we managed to communicate through sign-language. She's a farmer's daughter, I'm a farmer's son … by the time Mac got back with the captain, she was starting to trust me._

_Cap said we had to return her to the brothel. He said we had to apologise for the mistake, claim that we were completely drunk, didn't know what we were doing, and even pay for the damage we did to the guards._

_Meg, I couldn't do it. None of us could. Jeremy was married already—Mac has a girlfriend back in Vermont—and she was looking at me so trustingly, like she knew I wouldn't make her go back there‚—_

_Meg, I married her. Jeremy did the ceremony right there, with Cap and Mac as witnesses. Cap had to be officially disapproving, but he went ahead and let me do it, so I think a part of him was glad. She's only seventeen, Meg._

_Afterward, Cap went in and dealt with the Madame for me. He said that her price will be taken out of my pay for the next several months, until it's paid for. Jeremy and Mac are chipping in with money for the damages to the guards (who had come to by the time the marriage was happening, and were not terribly pleased, I might add). But because I married her, any scandal will be done away with. Instead of three soldiers causing a disturbance, bullying the Japanese, going against regulations, it's just a romantic fool chasing the girl of his dreams._

_Of course, the Avonlea scandal will be beyond anything any diplomatic corp could fathom._

_Are you angry with me, Meg? I know it was a crazy thing to do, and I still can't quite believe I _did_ it … but honestly, I'm not sorry. I'd do it again._

_Your new sister's name is Michiko. Michiko Blythe. We still have to figure out what to do about living situation—obviously she can't stay in the barracks with me—and this might mean I get discharged earlier. Which wouldn't be a bad thing, if it means I can bring Michiko home to Green Gables with me. Life has not been kind to her, Meg, and I want to show her how beautiful it can be._

_I'm sending this letter with one of the fellows who is going home on medical discharge, and he said he'll mail it for me from the States, so we won't have to worry about the censors. Needless to say, none of this would pass official inspection._

_Love you, Meg. Still, and always._

_Matt._

"Well?"

Meg looked at her husband. Her eyes were luminous with tears, but she was tremulously smiling. "Oh Will—I'm so proud of him. And oh—I have a sister now!"

* * *

Opinions and gossip flew through the clan at Matt's news. Matt—the steady one, the calm one, the one who never did anything rash or impulsive—Matt, married. To a Japanese girl. A foreigner. An enemy foreigner. Practically a child. And a—a prostitute.

Grandmother Blythe sighed at the romance of it all. Granddad laughed and shook his head at the younger generation—with a hint of pride in his voice. The aunts were equal parts thrilled and horrified. The uncles were more disapproving, though Uncle Carl did write from Montreal with a hearty "well-done!"

The cousins were divided: most who had served overseas hated the thought of the marriage. "I know it's prejudiced—and petty," Gil said gloomily, "But we fought them, Mum. How could he marry one?"

Peter, comfortably married to Jocelyn and supremely happy, said that Matt was free to marry anyone he wanted, and what did anyone else's opinion matter?

The younger cousins, especially the females, thought it dreadfully romantic. Dee was certain Michiko would be a stunning beauty, and only wished Johnny had done something so exciting.

And Grandmamma Irving completely forgot her pique at Meg for marrying Will in her horror at Matt's "imprudence." She telephoned Shirley and raked him over the coals for the way he raised the twins, claiming Cecily would never have approved of her son—

Shirley didn't hear the rest. He also left the receiver off the hook for the rest of the day.

Shirley, Meg, and Will stood firmly behind Matt—and Michiko. And Shirley, despite Rachel Irving's protests, knew that Cecily would do the same.

After all, it was from her Matt had inherited that long-hidden romantic streak. Shirley had always known it would break out someday. He hadn't known how, or when, but he knew, from the moment he saw his son's mouth, the same shape as Cecily's, with that same sensitive tremble, that someday that vein of romance would take over his sensible exterior.

Matt sent Meg and Shirley pictures of him and Michiko. He was in his uniform, looking sternly into the camera, with a hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. His arm was around a tiny slip of a girl, pale and shy, her irregular features set into a triangular face.

Dee might have been disappointed she was no "stunning beauty," but Meg saw, even in the grainy photograph, that Michiko—her sister—was looking at Matt with trust, and even love.

And that made her more beautiful than the most glamourous of Dee's silver screen idols.


	15. Chapter 15

By the time the furore over Matt's marriage died down, it was April, and spring had returned to the land. Meg was invigorated by the salty sea air, blowing in and mingling with the scent of fresh grass and growing things. Everything, even the Pink Abomination, looked better in the spring. She revitalised the small garden in the tiny backyard; there was just enough room for some lettuce, carrots, and tomatoes.

Around that time Johnny and his Angharad married, too. Bran, Jane, and their little Lewis attended the wedding, as did Lily and her fiance Freddie (Lord Whitmore to most). Lily and Freddie's wedding was planned for that summer, and Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem and Walter were all planning on attending. Grandmother and Granddad Blythe were invited, as well, but neither was entirely sure about taking such a long journey at their age.

Johnny and Angharad planned to come settle in Avonlea around May or June. Matt wrote to tell them he was getting an early discharge, and he and Michiko would be home sometime in the summer, as well.

"Green Gables will be full up," Will said.

Meg smiled in agreement. "I guess I don't have to worry about Papa being lonely anymore."

"He'll probably have to visit us just to get some quiet," Will joked, "instead of visiting us for the company."

Meg's friend Rose was planning her wedding, too, to Geoffrey Templestowe III. "I am not naming our first son Geoffrey," Rose had confided to Meg once. "The name is starting to sound positively pompous. And if our first daughter is a girl, she won't be Rose, either. As much as I adore Grandmother Rose, it's time to get some fresh names in our family."

Rose wrote that she and Geoff were considering travelling to the Maritimes for their honeymoon, and would it be possible to spend a day or two with Meg? Meg nearly squealed with delight at the thought of seeing her darling Rose again, and wasted no time in replying with an emphatic "Yes."

"Weddings, weddings, weddings," Will said. "Next thing you know, it will be babies, babies, babies."

"I do not believe that is considered an appropriate comment for a minister, Mr. Ashton," Meg teased.

"Good thing you are the only one who heard me say it, then, Mrs. Ashton."

Others had babies on their minds, too. Every time Polly wrote to Meg, she asked when they were going to start their family. Ally Ford wrote and complained that Meg and Will had been married over half a year now, when were they going to have children? Even some of the Grey Harbour women had started asking Meg if she and Reverend were hoping to have young ones,

"While you're still young," as one woman put it.

"As if we're on the verge of becoming old and decrepit," Meg giggled to Natalie afterward. "We haven't even been married a year yet, and I have yet to see twenty-five!"

In truth, Meg and Will were in no hurry to start a family. Life was perfectly sweet right now, with just the two of them. They would have children soon enough … right now they enjoyed simply being Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, not Papa and Mama.

Natalie was blossoming also, this spring. Her art lessons, still a secret from everyone but the Ashtons and Miss Beth, had progressed to the point where Mrs. Carter had suggested she do a show. There was a gallery in Montreal that featured Mrs. Carter's own work, and she said she would talk to the owner about showing Natalie's pieces.

Natalie came right over to the PA to tell Meg all about the chance as soon as she was back from Summerside.

"Do you think I should?" she asked. "Mrs Carter says it is all still very amateur, obviously, but it shows the promise of what I will develop into, and is still good enough to show, even as an amateur. Do you think I could?"

"Of course!" Meg said, hugging her friend in unaffected delight. "Natie, you are bursting with talent; I've seen your work, remember?" Meg occasionally accompanied Natalie to Summerside for the art lessons, and would spend her time roaming about the city or cooking with Mr. Carter, while Natalie and Mrs. Carter (whom Meg still thought of as Little Elizabeth) worked. "Although you won't be able to keep this a secret, if you do a show."

A little frown creased Natalie's white brow. "I hadn't thought of that. Maybe I should refuse …"

The water for tea came to a boil just then, so Meg had to wait to respond until she had poured their tea and brought it out onto the front steps, the closest thing to a porch the PA had. With Natalie sitting on the second step and Meg on the top, it wasn't quite as comfortable as the rocking chairs on North Wind's porch, but the girls made it work.

"Natie, I am about to give you some advice on something that is none of my business. If you like, you can completely ignore it, but I won't be able to sleep tonight if I think I should have said something, and didn't.

"I think it's time to stop hiding who you really are. You are not the village Magdalen--not anymore, if you ever were, which I'm starting to doubt. You are a wonderfully warm and loving person, who takes care of Miss Beth like she was your own mother. You are an amazingly talented artist, one who sees beauty in everything, and then is able to portray that beauty so that others may see it as well. You are a wonderful friend, you are clever and witty …" Meg had to stop; Natalie's face was flushed and her eyes were filled with tears.

"Oh Meg," she said, shaking her head. "Nobody has ever had the confidence in me you have. What would I have been like if I had met you years ago?" She wiped her eyes with a dainty handkerchief. "What did you mean when you said your were starting to doubt I ever was the village Magdalen?"

Meg shifted. She didn't know how to explain it, exactly. "Natie, I can easily believe you were a flirt. I can easily believe men have always been attracted to you--with as beautiful as you are, how could they not? But—I don't know—I just feel there is more than meets the eye. Everyone claims to 'know' all about you, but nobody ever seems to know the details. Your name has never been linked to anyone in particular. I just—I just think that all the rumours are just—just smoke and mirrors."

Natalie didn't say anything.

The silence lengthened to the point of discomfort before Meg spoke again. "I'm sorry I what I said hurt you, Natalie. I didn't mean it that way."

"Oh Meg," Natalie sighed and laughed at the same time. "How could I be hurt by such a trusting friend? I'm just overwhelmed. Not even Miss Beth has ever thought to doubt my reputation.

"And you're right, there is more—far more—under the surface. But please, believe me when I tell you that I can't explain it. I would if I could … but it's not my story to tell. And I won't betray—anyone."

"Even at the expense of having everyone think so ill of you?"

Natalie sat up a little straighter and tossed her head back proudly. "Even then. I can live with others' disapproval. I couldn't live with my own conscience condemning me as a traitor."

And though Meg wished it otherwise, for her friend's sake, she admired her for the choice.

* * *

In one of those odd twists of fate that occasionally happen, enlightenment came to Meg that very same week—not from Natalie, but from another.

"Mrs. Ashton!"

Meg tried to stifle a sigh. She had spent all day in various houses, helping take care of some little ones stricken with a spring cold, reading tracts to old Aunt Tilly McDonough, and scolding Harry Irvine for reneging on the promise he made his wife to not touch another drop of liquor if she would quit smoking a pipe. She was tired and filthy, and still had to make dinner for Will when she got home. She did not want to deal with any more people, not today.

But, she reminded herself, this was part of her life now, so she turned and smiled—and blinked.

Had she ever thought Aurore pale and cold? Today the girl was quivering with some strong emotion, her cheeks flushed a hectic red, her eyes glittering strangely. Meg instinctively took a step back, repulsed by the expression of fiendish delight on Aurore's face.

"Miss Pichot?" she said, hoping her formal greeting would turn the other girl away.

Not so. "Mrs. Ashton, I must speak to you," Aurore said, her voice throbbing with passion.

"I'm afraid now is not the best time—" Meg began.

Aurore didn't let her finish. "It can't wait."

Meg killed another sigh. Very well, she might as well get whatever this was out of the way. "Will you walk with me, then?"

"No," Aurore said. "Not in public."

The hair on Meg's arms prickled. Whatever was happening, she was suddenly quite sure she didn't like it. "What would you suggest, then?"

"My house," Aurore gestured imperiously, then spun on her heel and started walking without waiting to see if Meg was coming or not.

For a moment, Meg actually considered letting her go, but courtesy (and a hint of curiosity) took over, and she followed.

The Pichot house was small and dark, but impeccably clean. It was devoid of anything that gave it personality, no pictures or knick-knacks, not even a blanket on the back of the armchair. Meg found it chilling, both physically and emotionally.

"Mrs. Ashton," Aurore said, not even offering her a seat or welcoming her to the house, "I am afraid that I have some terribly distressing news to give you. I hate the fact that I must be the one to bring it to your attention, but it is my duty. I only hope you will not hold me responsible for what I could not prevent."

"Please continue," Meg said coolly. Perhaps she should have been more concerned at Aurore's words, but the other girl seemed almost to be reading lines from a script, so perfectly did her words come together.

Aurore clasped her hands together in front of her waist. "Mrs. Ashton, I am afraid that my sister has succeeded in seducing your husband."

Meg wondered if her ears had quit working properly. Aurore couldn't have said what Meg thought she just had. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your husband and my sister are having an affair," Aurore said. "I had long suspected it, but only received irrefutable proof yesterday …"

She continued, but this time Meg's ears really did stop working.

Her first inclination was to laugh. Was this Aurore's idea of a joke? Then, as the enormity of what the girl was suggesting sank in, she felt a very strong urge to box Aurore's ears.

She finally settled on icy disdain. "Don't be ridiculous," she said crisply, in a manner half reminiscent of her Grandmamma Irving, and half reminiscent of Rose Greye at her haughtiest. "Why on earth would you say such a thing?"

"Mrs. Ashton, I can understand why you would not want to believe it, but I am telling the truth."

"Miss Pichot," Meg said, her voice as cold as Aurore's ever was, "I am going to do you the courtesy of assuming you are merely making a grave error. If I were to suspect you had made this tale up, it would be too outrageous. Therefore, let me assure you that you are, indeed, quite mistaken. My husband and your sister are most certainly not having an affair."

"I tell you I have proof!" Aurore insisted, her voice rising.

"That, you most certainly do not have, for I tell you again the thing is impossible. You see, I know …" Meg hesitated, wondering which individual's character she ought to define and defend first, Will's or Natalie's.

Aurore mistook the hesitation. Her face grew dark, and she took a step forward and lost all control. "So she did tell you! I might have known she would. Natalie swore she'd never tell a soul, but I saw you befriending her, and I knew she couldn't hold out forever."

Meg opened her mouth to say she didn't know what Aurore was talking about, when revelation came all at once. She closed her mouth, and let Aurore continue.

"I was afraid, when I went away and Natalie went to Miss Beth, that she would betray me to her, but I came home and nobody seemed to know, so I thought I was safe. After all, I'd been using Natalie as my cover since we were children, and she'd never once said anything against me.

"Then you, you and your husband came, and Natalie began changing. She wouldn't listen to me anymore, even told me she was done protecting me. She said she wouldn't tell anyone the truth about our past, but if I saw any more men, she would not accept responsibility like she'd always done. She started vanishing on her days out from Miss Beth's … I thought, if she hadn't told you about us, that I could convince you she was seeing your husband on those days, and drive you away."

"And it didn't matter to you that you would destroy my marriage in the process?" Meg asked quietly. Utter outrage seethed in her chest. "No, of course you wouldn't care. If you have let your sister bear the blame for all your sinful acts in the past, why would this bother you?"

"I don't need to defend myself to you," Aurore said.

"No," Meg agreed. "What defence could you possibly give? You have used your sister shamefully … you have destroyed her reputation. You have lied, and you have tried to hurt my husband and me, two people who have never caused you harm. No, there is no defence for your actions."

Aurore glared at her. "I will not have such things said about me in my house. Get out!"

Meg stood her ground. "You invited me, now you must bear the consequences. It might interest you to know that Natalie never said one word about you to me. Your own guilty conscience betrayed you, not your sister."

Aurore started. "What?"

"However," Meg continued ruthlessly, "now that I know the truth, it is time for your act to be over."

"You would not tell!"

"I most certainly would," Meg said. Part of her shied away from all this ugliness, but she shunted that part aside for the moment. Her friend—and even Will, for his reputation and ministry would be destroyed if Aurore persisted in this lie—needed her to be strong right now, even to the point of cruelty, if that was what it took. "Unless …"

Aurore snatched at the possibility. "Unless?"

"Unless this stops. Unless you stop. Stop spreading poison about your sister. Stop telling lies about Will. Stop hiding your deeds behind your sister's face. Then, I will keep silent."

"Blackmail, Mrs. Ashton?"

That's exactly what it was, and Meg winced away from the hateful word. "If that's what it takes," she forced herself to say.

Aurore clenched her fists, as though she'd like nothing better than to strike Meg down.

"Very well," she said sullenly.

"Good," Meg said. "Good day, Miss Pichot."

With that, she walked out, holding her head high and keeping her back ramrod straight. She neither saw nor heard anything on her walk back to the PA, aware only of the trembling in her legs, and praying she would make it home before she collapsed.

She met Will at her front door.

"Meg!" he exclaimed, taking in her white, strained face and enormous eyes in one quick glance. "What is it?"

"Oh, Will," Meg said, and burst into tears.


	16. Chapter 16

Meg poured out the entire story to Will and then, at his insistence, repeated it to Natalie and Miss Beth. She had been extremely reluctant to say anything to them, after her promise to Aurore, but Will had one of his rare stern moments, and she capitulated.

"I'm sorry, Natie," she ended.

Natalie shook her head. She had sat very still and quiet through Meg's tale, her hands clasped around her knee as she sat in the wooden chair, lashes dropped down to her cheeks to hide the tears that threatened to fall.

"None of this is your fault," she said.

"I know Meg promised to say nothing, but I felt that it was important the both of you knew what had happened," Will said.

"Thank you," Miss Beth said. She leaned forward to look at Natalie. "Dear child, why did you never say anything to me? Obviously I knew there was something more behind you and Aurore—anyone who bothered to look below the surface of your relationship could have told that—but why didn't you come to me to ask for help?"

"I promised," Natalie said softly. "She is my sister."

"Now that Meg has unearthed the truth, will you at least fill in the details?" Miss Beth pressed.

Slowly, heavily, Natalie did so.

The first time she had caught Aurore filching one of their classmate's bracelet, eight-year-old Natalie had been horrified. She tried to put it back in the girl's desk when Aurore wasn't watching, but the teacher caught her and jumped to the conclusion that Natalie was the one who had taken it.

"I was always a little wild," she said. "And Aurore was so quiet and well-behaved. It was natural that they would think I was the one who took it."

Natalie tried to defend herself, but she wouldn't betray her sister, and Aurore, to her horror, told the teacher that Natalie had indeed taken it, and was only putting it back because Aurore insisted.

"And so the pattern began," Miss Beth said.

Natalie nodded.

When they got older, boys were naturally attracted to Natalie. Aurore, however, was the sister with whom they always ended … whether they knew it or not.

"She would meet them in the dark," Natalie said, crimson flooding her cheeks. "She used my name … our voices are similar, and we are enough alike that if you can't see clearly you'd think she was I, or the other way around."

And so Natalie's reputation grew.

"When she went off, supposedly to England to work as a nurse, it was, well, she was pregnant," Natalie said, carefully not looking at anyone, especially Will. "She couldn't stay and have people discover the truth, so she went away to have the baby. I think she put it up for adoption, although I don't know for certain, and then only after that did she go to England."

"And by the time she came back, you were safe with me and she couldn't use you as her cover anymore," Miss Beth supplied. Natalie nodded.

"No wonder she kept trying to persuade you to come back home," Will said dryly.

"And when she sensed that you were growing even further away from her, that was when she tried to bring you down by that ridiculous story about Will," Miss Beth finished. "Well Meg, part of me wishes you hadn't made that bargain with her—I would love to see her exposed for what she truly is."

"No!" Natalie said. "Miss Beth, please. I haven't protected her all these years just to have her destroyed now. Please, don't say anything."

"I won't," Miss Beth promised with some reluctance in her tone. She looked across the room to where Meg was sitting, silently unhappy. "And what troubles you, child?"

"Blackmail, she called it," Meg sighed. "It's such an ugly word, but that's what I did."

"Well, I would be the last to condone such behaviour as a regular practice, but in this case, I think you did perfectly right," Miss Beth declared. She raised an eyebrow at Will, who obligingly supported her.

"I agree, darling. You couldn't let her continue on her lying way, not knowing what you did, but you couldn't spread gossip about her, either. You did the only thing you could do."

"Sometimes the only option is still a bad one, though," Meg sighed.

Natalie got up from her seat and came to sit at Meg's feet. "My dear friend, I am so sorry that I put you in this position."

Meg stroked Natalie's shining dark head. "You put me here? Natie, you are innocent in all this!"

"If I had not let Aurore use me, you would not have been forced to blackmail her."

"Yes, but—"

"But—"

"When you girls are quite finished blaming yourselves for Aurore's sins …" Miss Beth said, dry amusement plain in her voice.

Meg and Natalie smiled at each other, both feeling lighter than they had since the entire mess had begun. "We're done."

"Good. Then I suggest we put all this behind us and move forward. Let us not afford Aurore the satisfaction of knowing that she has disturbed our peace a moment longer."

"As always, the soul of wisdom," Will said, bowing in her direction.

Later, after the Ashtons were home, Will asked Meg,

"Just out of curiosity, dearest, when Aurore accused me of having an affair with Natalie, did you even think, for a second, that she might be telling the truth?"

"Not even for half a second," Meg said.

"How could you be so sure?"

Meg smiled, and kissed him. "Because I know you. And I trust you."

Will put his arm around her. "I feel sorry for all the other men in the world, who don't have you for their wife."

Meg sighed, and unexpectedly, felt a pang of pity for Aurore—poor Aurore, who would never give anything, but could only take from others, scheming and plotting on ways to grasp and snatch. She would never know true happiness.

* * *

One week later, Grey Harbour was shocked by the departure of Aurore Pichot to parts unknown. She just packed up her belongings, left the key to her house under the mat, and took the early train away. She didn't even say good-bye to her sister. For a while, gossip and rumours swirled, but nobody but Miss Beth, Natalie, the Ashtons, and Aurore herself ever knew the truth.

With Aurore gone, and the village's three most prominent and respected individuals supporting her, Natalie soon found that she was able to walk down the street without hearing inappropriate invitations from men, and without the mothers turning their backs on her. In time, most people forgot entirely her early reputation, knowing her only as Miss Beth's devoted housekeeper and Missus Reverend's best friend.

Meg's blackmail, though until the day of her death she was ashamed to think of it, had had its effect.


	17. Chapter 17

"Oh, dear," Meg said, looking helplessly at Will. "I'm just not sure I can do this."

Will kissed her nose and firmly helped her onto the train. "You want to see Johnny, don't you?"

"Of course, and I do miss home … but I hate to leave you."

"It's only a long weekend."

Meg glared at him. "Why aren't you more upset about this separation?"

Will couldn't keep his grin off his face. "I'll cry all night after I get home. This happy face is just to keep you cheerful."

Meg sighed. "I wish you could come, too."

"So do I," Will agreed. "I'd like to get to know Johnny better, and see your family. But with Matt and Michiko coming home in June, you know that I just can't take this Sunday, too."

"I know. And I know if you have to choose, we'd all prefer you to wait until you can see Johnny and Angharad and Matt and Michiko, instead of just Johnny and Angharad."

He glanced up at the clock. "I'd better go. I love you, Mrs. Ashton."

"And I you, Mr. Ashton," Meg said. Ignoring the disapproving matrons around her, she settled her hat more firmly on her head and kissed Will. "I'll see you Monday morning."

"I shall count the moments!" Will declared theatrically. He exited the train and stood waving his hat energetically until the shiny black monster huffed and puffed and heaved its way out of the station.

Meg sat back in her seat. She would miss Will fiercely, but she was looking forward to going home … seeing Papa and Green Gables, meeting Johnny's bride, visiting Tanglewood and Echo Lodge … rambling through the woods and fields again. She could even see Violet Vale again, bask in its purple sweetness. Wander down Lover's Lane and chat with the memory ghosts of her grandparents and parents. Get caught up with her friends and family, see how big little Evie had gotten. Sleep in her old bed, in her old room, and wake to the sun tickling her face instead of a dark and gloomy bedroom in a detestable Pink Abomination. She could do a hundred things she had been missing ever since she left last September.

Even if none of it would be half so enjoyable without her husband.

Meg had to laugh at herself. Who would have guessed, a year ago, that she would be so attached to her husband that even returning to her most beloved home lost half its zest without him?

"Lovesick, that's what I am," she murmured to herself.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

To Meg's delight, Peter was awaiting her at the Bright River station.

"Welcome home, fawn!" he called the moment she stepped off the train.

"Oh Peter, it's so good to see you," Meg cried, rushing into his arms. "I wasn't sure who would be meeting the train."

"There was a great deal of competition, I can tell you," Peter said, collecting her small valise and helping her into his second-hand Austin. "I only won because I snuck out while the rest were arguing."

Meg laughed. "Who all is here?"

"Auntie Nan and Uncle Jerry and Dee are at Tanglewood with Mum and Dad, and we have Grandmother and Granddad staying with us at Echo Lodge. Johnny and Angharad are at Green Gables with Uncle Shirley, where they'll stay until they find a small farm of their own. Oh, and Polly and Elliot and Davie are at Tanglewood too, visiting."

"Are they still in Glen St. Mary?"

"For now," Peter said, starting the engine. "Although I did hear Elliot talking about moving away from Canada altogether."

"Really? Where to?"

"Polly's hoping England, where Lily and Freddie are. Elliot's been talking about the States, though, thinking maybe somewhere out west."

"Rose's fiance lives in Colorado," Meg said. "I know she loves it there. I think Polly could be happy there."

"I think she'd be happy anywhere Mrs. Douglas is not," Peter said wryly.

Meg laughed, and they grinned happily at each other.

"I've missed you, fawn."

"Really? With a beautiful wife and darling little girl, and you've missed your little cousin?"

"Believe it or not, I have. Jocelyn is amazingly wonderful and Evie a darling, but you, friend of the elves, are unique, and it just seems wrong to be so close to Avonlea and not have you there. Isn't Rev. Craig about ready to retire? Don't you think you could persuade Will to take over the Avonlea church?"

Meg laughed, but felt a surprising pang. It would be like a dream come true to live in Avonlea permanently, close to Papa and Matt and Michiko once they arrived … but the thought of leaving the people of Grey Harbour tore through her heart. She knew she and Will would move on someday, once they had saved enough money for seminary, but she wasn't quite ready to think about that yet.

"Well, at least you have me for the weekend," she said instead. "And Will and I will both be coming for a full week when Matt and Michiko come home."

"I suppose I can be content with that," Peter said.

They chatted about this and that the rest of the way back. Some of the time they rode in silence, letting the magic of their home steep into their bones. It wasn't quite as charming, riding in a car as opposed to a horse and buggy, but it was still the way home, and that made it perfect.

And then, before they knew it, they were at Green Gables, and a crowd was spilling out the gate to greet them.

"Peter, you rascal!"

"Meg, look at you!"

"Meg, come meet my wife."

"Are you tired? Do you want some tea?"

"How was the drive?"

"Was the train too dreadful?"

"Oh Meg, that skirt is so out of date, don't you keep up on fashion at all?"

"Enough!" Shirley seldom bellowed, but when he did raise his voice, everyone stopped and listened.

"Thank you," he said calmly. "Meggie, my child, welcome home."

Meg stepped into her father's hug, and all was right with the world.

* * *

They had tea out on the front lawn. They wouldn't all fit in Green Gables' parlour, and it was such a beautiful day that nobody wanted to go inside, anyway. Grandmother sat on a blanket with her great-granddaughter in her lap and Granddad by her side, and the rest scattered around with her as the centre. Johnny finally managed to pry Meg away from Dee's fashion quiz.

"Good gosh, sis, who cares about Meg's hair?" he said bluntly. Dee looked scandalised, and Meg laughed.

"Thank you," she muttered as she trailed after her cousin.

He looked over his shoulder at her and winked. "Some things never change. Ah!" He held out his hands. "Meg, this is my wife. Angharad, meet Meg."

The two women sized each other up. Meg saw a girl an inch or so shorter than herself, sturdily built, with neatly rolled brown hair and impish brown eyes set in a pleasant face. Nothing about her indicated what, exactly, Johnny had fallen in love with … until she smiled. Then her entire face lit up with pure delight, and she was beautiful.

Meg stepped forward and hugged her new cousin. "I'm so pleased to meet you."

"And I you," Angharad replied. Her voice carried the pleasant Welsh lilt, making her words all sound almost like song. "Johnny's—well, I can't say he's told me much about you, because you know he's not much for talking, but he's told me more about you than anyone else."

Meg turned her head to see Johnny grin sheepishly, and she twinkled saucy eyes at him. "I see you've not changed much, Johnny."

"There have to be some quiet ones in this clan," he parried.

Meg looked behind her. Dee, as stylish and pretty as ever, was arguing over something with Joss, who looked amused and (though Meg hated to admit it) slightly patronising. Uncle Patrick rested on the grass, with Davie chattering to him like a red squirrel. Auntie Di and Auntie Nan were laughing together, and Peter, Uncle Jerry, and Elliot were discussing something quite loudly, Uncle Jerry sounding like a true orator. Only Shirley was silent, and he caught Meg's eyes and made a face of comical exasperation.

Meg laughed, and had to agree with Johnny's assessment.

* * *

The weekend was everything Meg had hoped it would be: she rambled with Peter and Jocelyn through the woods and fields; she talked with Angharad and slowly came to a deep appreciation of this cheerful and practical, strong-willed and stubborn, new cousin; she had a heart-to-heart with Polly and learned of how she and Elliot were slowly coming to know each other as real people, not just shadowy images; she wandered alone through all her favourite spots; best of all, she was able to talk to her father in person about Matt's marriage.

"And you're really not upset about it, not at all?" she asked him anxiously.

"I promise," he assured her, for the moment the strong and loving papa comforting his little girl again. "Oh, I was furious when it first happened—not at Matt or Michiko, mind, but at the cruelty of this world that forces children into slavery and prostitution, and punishes those who try to rescue them … but then I decided that to look at their marriage as a punishment, or a cruel trick of fate, was a mistake." He smiled at her. "Your Will has a faith so strong it has even influenced me, Meg-love. I believe that the Good Lord meant for Matt to marry Michiko, that He brought them together, that it was His hand covering them both."

"Will taught you that?" Meg asked in delight.

"By his life, not by his words, yes. You married a fine young man, Meg. I'm proud of both you and Matt, and pleased beyond words with my son-in-law and my daughter-in-law."

Then Meg asked the next question that was troubling her. "Do you think she'll like us?"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be shy around us at first, but in time, yes. Especially you, daughter." Shirley smiled. "How could she not love you?"

It was a perfectly lovely weekend, but Meg still found that her joy at seeing Will again outweighed her sorrow at leaving, and she rode away from the train station with a light heart.

She arrived back at Grey Harbour feeling she'd been gone for months. She slipped her hand through Will's as they meandered through the street even before going home.

"Oh, I am so glad to be back."

"I'm glad to have you," Will said. "I don't think I'd care for the bachelor life, not at all."

"Well, it's a good thing you're married then, isn't it, Mr. Ashton?"

"It certainly is, Mrs. Ashton."

They finally, half-reluctantly, turned their steps back to the PA, where Meg's valise awaited them on the front steps. Next to it was a white envelope, which Will picked up on their way inside. "This must have gotten lost in the mail this morning."

"Who is it from?" Meg asked, taking the pins out of her hair and shaking it out with a sigh of relief.

Will's eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead in surprise as he took in the postmark. "England."

Meg turned to look at him, her own eyebrows rising. "Your mother's family?"

"It's from Aunt Cass," he said, and tore it open.


	18. Chapter 18

_Dear Rose,_

_I know you are in the throes of delightful wedding plans, and I hate to distract you from them for even a moment, but I need to talk to someone—and for the first time since I've known him, I can't talk to Will, and I'm too ashamed to talk to anyone in my family. Lend me your ear, dear friend? It'll only be for a bit, and then you can toss this aside, say "Silly Meg," and get back to your bridesmaids' colours (pink, darling—go with pink, and mint green for an accent)._

_Last week, Will got a letter from his youngest aunt, Cassandra. In it, she told him that twelve years ago, she had a baby. She was rebelling against her mother and brothers' strict ways, and had a brief affair with a married man. When she found out she was pregnant, she went away for a while, hid it from her family. After the baby was born, she entrusted it to her old governess (it sounds like a gothic romance, I know). Once the child was old enough, she paid for its acceptance into a boarding school. She scrimped and saved on her allowance from her mother, just so she could keep the child's existence a secret from the rest of the family._

_And now she wants Will and me to take her! She's ill—she says the doctors told her she won't last out the year—and once she dies she won't be able to keep the child in school, but she refuses to let her family take over its care. She asked Will if he would come to England and bring the child back to Canada with him; she'll even sign guardianship papers so that there won't be any legal difficulty._

_Of course, Will can't refuse a last wish from his dying aunt. I wouldn't want him to. And when I think—abstractly—about a lonely child, never having known a parent's love, my heart melts._

_When I think about it in the concrete, though, when I realise this child is coming to us, to be our care, oh Rose, I don't know if I can do it! Will and I haven't even talked about having children yet. Life is so sweet with just the two of us, and now a stranger will be coming in. Not even a baby, but a twelve-year-old child, changing everything. We only have two bedrooms, so we won't have a guest room anymore—no more visits from family or friends. We won't be able to share our private jokes, we won't be able to take our solitary walks on the shore … there'll always be a third person around, intruding._

_Oh, I feel like such a horrible person, even complaining about this. I should be willing, even happy, to do this. Will didn't even hesitate. He finished reading the letter, looked at me, and said: "We'll have to take her, Meg." Of course I agreed—what else could I do?—but I've been silently revolting ever since._

_He left yesterday to get the child (his aunt either forgot or purposely didn't write the name, or even the gender, so I have no idea who he or she even is), and I've been going crazy ever since._

_And oh—since he's taking time unexpectedly now to go to England, he won't be able to take time in June when Matt and Michiko come home. I might be able to go to Avonlea alone again, but then what will we do about the child? The thought of not being able to meet my new sister, and not being to see my brother just makes me want to cry._

_And yet, when I think how Matt was willing to risk everything, to throw his entire life into disarray to marry Michiko in the first place, I feel about two inches tall for not wanting this child._

_There. I'm done. Forgive me for burdening you with this, dear friend, and feel free to throw this letter away as soon as you are done reading it and forget all about me and my petty worries._

_Tell Geoff and all your families I said hello,_

_Meg.

* * *

_

Meg walked gloomily to the general store to post her letter to Colorado. On the way, she had to paste a smile on her face for all the villagers she met—and goodness, it seemed everyone was out, and wanting to know when Reverend was returning with the young'un.

"He's a good man, Reverend is," seemed to be the general consensus, and Meg couldn't argue with that.

She would not have wanted Will to not take the child, to refuse his aunt's request. That would make him not _Will_, not the man she loved. She just desperately wished this whole situation had never materialised—that Aunt Cass's letter had stayed lost in the mail, never been delivered. That Grandmother Thornton wasn't so hard a woman, so that the child could have stayed with its Thornton relatives. That their situation had been such that they simply _could not_ have taken the child.

Mostly, she wished that she could do this with a willing heart, instead of the smouldering resentment she was keeping buried under her smiling face.

"Meg!" Natalie called from across the street as Meg exited the store. She crossed over. "Have you heard from Will?"

Meg shook her head. "No, and I don't expect to. He said he'd only contact me if there were problems; otherwise, just expect him back in a week or a little more."

Natalie observed her friend shrewdly. "And how are you doing?"

Meg wouldn't lie to her friend, but neither did she think she could tell the whole truth. "I think I'd be doing better if I knew more about the child," she said, honestly enough. "I was hoping to do something special to turn the guest room into his or her bedroom, but without knowing if it's a boy or a girl, I can't get anything ready. It's the uncertainty of it all."

"Maybe redecorating will be a fun project you and the child can take on after he or she gets here, something to help you bond," Natalie offered.

"Perhaps," Meg conceded, but her tone showed her doubt.

Natalie patted her shoulder. "It'll work out, Meg, just wait and see." Meg wished she had her friend's confidence.

"How are you doing?" she asked, wanting to change the subject. "How are preparations for the show coming?"

Natalie's face lit up, and Meg marvelled again at how utterly beautiful she was.

"Oh, I'm so excited! Mrs. Carter—I know she wants me to call her Elizabeth, but it still seems to impolite—told me that all I really need are two more big pieces; a portrait of somebody, and either a sculpture or an abstract painting. I would like to do a sculpture, but I think my strength is in the pictures. I have an image in my mind, all blues and greens and greys like the sea, but I haven't found a good subject yet for my portrait."

Meg let the flow of chatter wrap comfortingly around her. Running through a mental catalogue of all her acquaintances to see if any of them would fit Natalie's requirements for a portrait was far more pleasant than sitting at home fretting over what next week would bring.

* * *

The week dragged on, but eventually the day of Will's arrival came. He had sent her a brief note, just a few lines letting her know the date and time of their arrival, and telling her not to bother meeting them at the station, they would rent a rig and get themselves home.

Meg was up at dawn, unable to sleep. She scrubbed and polished the entire house in a fever of anxiety and fear. Would the child like them? Would they like the child? Would it be rough, dirty, ill-mannered? Would it be proud and stick its nose up at their simple ways? Could their life ever be simple and happy again? What would this change do to their marriage?

So many questions, and not one of them could be answered until Will came home with the child.

Meg put a roast in the oven for dinner, scrubbed some potatoes and carrots and put them on to boil, and whipped up a batch of baking powder biscuits. Dinner prepared, the PA looking as welcoming as was possible, she couldn't stay indoors.

First she stood on the steps, peering down to see if the travellers were coming. Then she moved to the front gate … then the road … finally she started walking down the road, hoping to meet them.

It wasn't long before she saw two dusty figures, one tall, one short, coming toward her. She let out a glad shout and ran toward them, all her fears temporarily eclipsed by her joy at seeing her husband again.

Will gave an answering whoop and sped up as well, meeting her in the middle of the road and kissing her soundly.

"Blasted car ran out of gas, left us stranded a mile or so back," he said, shaking his head. "But I'd walk a dozen miles just to see your face at the end. Oh Meg, I'm so glad to be home."

Over his shoulder, Meg saw the smaller figure approaching slowly, and all her fears returned. She stepped away from Will, and he turned back to introduce his cousin to his wife.

"This is my wife, Meg. Meg, this is Leigh Thornton."

Meg saw a slight figure with long brown hair bound in two braids, a sweetly sad round face, a pug nose and drooping mouth, and two blue eyes filled with tremendous weariness and sadness. At the sight of those eyes, all of Meg's fears and resentments fell away as if by magic, and she stepped forward to embrace the girl with her whole heart.

"Welcome home, Leigh," she said, and truly meant it.

* * *

_Dear Meg,_

_You _are_ a silly. Now that the child has been there a few days, write me again and tell me how you feel?_

_Geoff sends his love, and we are not to be dissuaded from visiting you even if you don't have a guest room--we'll sleep on the floor in the kitchen if we must (especially if you have lots of good food in said room), but we will see you and Will and The Child!_

_Of course the dresses are going to be pink—but do you really think mint green as an accent? Wouldn't silvery grey be more _elegant_?_

_Rose.

* * *

_

_Dear Rose,_

_You're right, as usual. If I didn't love you so much I would get frustrated at how often that happens. Leigh is a darling, and I love her already._

_How about green _and_ grey?_

_We will see you soon!_

_Meg._


	19. Chapter 19

After dinner (of which Leigh ate barely a bite), Meg showed the girl to her room.

"It's not very pretty, I'm afraid," she said apologetically, wishing more than ever she could have done something to the dark, stained walls, the cold floor, and the old-fashioned patchwork quilt and simple curtains. "Hopefully, now that you're here, we can do something about fixing it up for you." She smiled. "Do you have a favourite colour?"

Leigh shook her head. "Everything is fine, thank you." She set her bag down.

"Well," Meg said, at a bit of a loss for words, "I'm sure you must be exhausted—travelling all the way from England to PEI, and then having to walk the last stretch! That's not the first impression of Grey Harbour we would have liked to give you. That's Will for you, though—he's not exactly known for his foresight. Anyone else would have made sure the car had enough gas, but not our Will!"

Leigh said nothing.

"You're welcome to take a nap up here, if you like," Meg tried again, "or you can come downstairs. Whichever you prefer." She placed a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. "I know this must all seem strange to you. Will and I just want you to be comfortable here."

Leigh nodded once. "Thank you," she said formally. "I believe I will take a nap."

"Call me if you need anything," Meg said, and exited, feeling somewhat rebuffed. She reminded herself that Leigh had just lost the only parent she'd ever known, and had her entire life uprooted underneath her. It would take time for her to adjust. Meg just needed to be patient.

Will was half-asleep in the big chair when Meg entered the parlour, but he woke up at once and beckoned for her to seat herself in his lap.

"Now, this is something like," he said in satisfaction. "A week away from my wife is seven days too long."

Meg nestled her head against his chest. "Tell me all about it?"

So he did.

* * *

The trip out, he had tormented himself constantly, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He felt guilty for asking so much of Meg, then resentful of Aunt Cass for putting this on him, then guilty for feeling resentful of his dying aunt … he hadn't gotten much rest.

_(Meg decided then and there she would never tell him how upset she had been initially over Leigh coming.)_

He had wired Aunt Cass with his travel arrangements, but to his surprise nobody met him at the Milton station. He remembered the old family home all too well, though, so he eventually hired a cab and rode out there himself.

The house was grand but bleak, just as he remembered it. When he rang the doorbell, the same housekeeper answered, looking not any older than when he had left, thirteen years ago.

"May I help you?" she asked coldly, looking at his travel-worn clothing and missing arm—not that she could see the arm that was missing, but the space where it ought to have been. Will guessed she thought him a vagabond, someone looking for work or a handout.

"Hallo, Vail," he said cheerfully.

She looked at him again, and her wooden expression gradually gave way to surprised recognition. "Master William?"

"Good to see you again. I see news of my arrival hasn't arrived."

"We hadn't heard a thing—come in, lad. I'll go tell your grandmother at once."

Will held up his hand to halt her. "Actually, Vail, while I'd like to see my grandmother, of course, I'm mostly here for Aunt Cass. Could you direct me to her?"

Mrs. Vail's face closed down again, and she proceeded to tell Will that his youngest aunt was very ill, and seeing nobody.

"She asked me to come, though," Will persisted. "I'm sure she'll see me."

Mrs. Vail obviously wanted to take him to his grandmother and let her deal with it, but in the end, Will had his way.

_(He always did, Meg reflected. Without ever pushing an issue or seeming rude, he somehow always convinced people to do exactly as he wanted.)_

In the end, she led him to the small back bedroom that had always been Aunt Cass's even when she was a girl, and spoke a few words to the white-capped nurse on duty. She also pursed her lips disapprovingly, but stood aside and let him enter the room.

Will was shocked at his aunt's appearance. She had always been lovely: lustrous dark hair; bright blue eyes; eyebrows angled quirkily; a wide, good-humoured, strong mouth. Now, the hair was dulled, the eyes sunken, her skin pale as death, her mouth pinched from pain and sorrow.

"Hullo, Aunt," he whispered.

Her eyes focused on him with difficulty. "William?"

He crossed the room to stand by her bed, reaching down for her hand. "Yes, Aunt Cass. I came."

"I knew you wouldn't fail me …" she sighed.

She then told him all about the child—her name, the circumstances of her birth, where Will could find her now.

"I've never been able to regret the affair," she whispered, "not even when it meant I had to lie and save and scrimp every penny to take care of her. I suppose that's wicked, especially since it was with a married man. But he forgot me and returned to his wife, and I was left with my darling baby, and I can't be sorry. I only regret not being able to give her a home. But you … you and your wife can give her a home, and love her, and keep her safe from Mother and Frank and Betty and Jane. Your mother was always my dearest friend, and I've always been fond of you, William. You—you are very like your mum."

_(Uncle Kip always said the same thing, and Meg thought again how much she wished she could have met Will's mother.)_

When Will exited Aunt Cass's room, Grandmother Thornton stood in the hall, waiting for him. Of course, Vail must have told her, Will reflected. He couldn't blame the housekeeper; she had to obey Grandmother or lose her job.

He tried his old cheeky grin. "Hello, Grandmother."

"What are you doing here, William? Vail says you came to see Cassandra. What does she want of you? Why didn't you tell us you were coming? Where is your wife?"

"It's lovely to see you too, Grandmother," Will said, kissing her cheek.

She glared at him, unmoved. "Don't be frivolous, boy."

Grandmother was a tall woman, solidly built, with a glare that could freeze Africa at noon, and as a child Will had been absolutely terrified of her. Now, though, he was pleased to find her not even slightly intimidating.

_(That was one good thing that came out of the army, Meg supposed. After months and years of dealing with irascible superior officers, family members would become less threatening.)_

"I'm here because Aunt Cass asked me to come visit her. As for why she wanted me—well, I'm not at liberty to say. I didn't tell you I was coming because I wasn't sure if Aunt Cass wanted you to know, and my wife is wonderful. How are you?"

Grandmother had another barrage of questions, trying to bully him into telling about Aunt Cass, but he stood his ground. Finally, she ran down and grudgingly told him she'd have Vail prepare a guest room for him.

"Thank you, Grandmother, but I think I'll be staying in the hotel. I wouldn't want to impose. I would be more than happy to stay for dinner, though."

And before she realised it, that's exactly what happened.

Dinner was an uncomfortable affair, with his Uncle Frank, head of the mill, and his wife Aunt Betty, attempting to pry into his life. Aunt Jane, the spinster sister, sat next to him and sniffed disapprovingly at every other word. Will missed Uncle Charles, who had died since he left; he used to at least be jolly, if too loud and sometimes inappropriate. He'd heard stories about Aunt Rebecca, who had been sweet and shy, but she had died before he was born, in the Spanish Influenza pandemic of '19.

Out of six children, three had died and one was close to death. For a moment, Will felt a pang of sympathy for Grandmother Thornton.

It was gone the next, though, as she spoke sneeringly of the new vicar in town and his devotion to the parish poor.

* * *

Two days later, Aunt Cass died, peacefully in her sleep. The nurse said that she seemed to have just been hanging on until Will got there, and after his arrival, she was able to give up. The funeral was very decorous, and as soon as it was over, Grandmother Thornton demanded yet again to know why he had come. This time, Will told her. Aunt Cass was gone, the information couldn't hurt her anymore, and Grandmother at least deserved to know that she had another grandchild living.

She was, as one might expect, stunned by the news. Stunned, and then utterly outraged. Once she finished lamenting the shame Cassandra has brought upon their family, she demanded Will tell her where the girl was.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know!"

"Aunt Cass asked me to take her home with me, and that is what I am going to do. What does it matter to you where I have to go to get her?"

Grandmother had fixed him with her frozen stare again. "You will do no such thing, William. That child of sin will have no part of our family. I will take what would have been Cassandra's inheritance to continue to pay for her to stay at school, and even find her a decent job—a maid somewhere, or a shopgirl, or even working in a mill somewhere—but I will not condone you taking her in. Imagine the stigma attached to our family, our family, which has always been so respected in Milton!"

"I am not bringing her to Milton, I am bringing her to PEI," Will said, keeping his temper with difficulty. "If you are that ashamed, you need never tell anyone about her. We certainly will not ever return to betray the truth."

_(Meg could just imagine his stern face and biting tone as he said it, and she winced for Grandmother Thornton being on the receiving end.)_

Grandmother stormed and scolded, and even brought Uncle Frank, Aunt Betty, and Aunt Jane in to join her, but Will stood firm.

He finally left them, still furious, still swearing to never speak to him again if he went against them in this manner, and found Leigh.

She was so puzzled when he introduced himself. The headmistress of the boarding school explained that they had been told she was an orphan, with her fees paid by an unknown, sympathetic benefactor. To suddenly learn that she had had a living mother, who had never been able to acknowledge her, and at the same time learn that her mother was now dead, and to find that her parents had never been married and nobody even knew who her father was, was all a bit much for a twelve-year-old girl.

After that, even learning that she was leaving school and moving to Canada to live with her cousin and his wife was less of a shock.

_(Meg wished she could have been there. As wonderful as Will was, that was the sort of information that another woman should probably have passed along to poor Leigh.)_

She hadn't seemed at all upset about leaving—she didn't seem to have any particular friends or anyone that she felt the need to bid goodbye. Nor did she make any response to his overtures of friendliness on the boat back. In fact, she hadn't said one more word than was absolutely necessary the entire time. Will was quite exhausted trying to bring her out of her shell.

"Well," said Meg as he finished, "At least you both are here now, and we can start settling in and getting used to each other. In time, I'm sure Leigh will grow to love it here."

And though neither said so, both fervently hoped it was true, while at the same time doubting it in their hearts.


	20. Chapter 20

The weeks slipped by, and the weather warmed from spring into early summer, but Leigh stayed quiet and distant. She was immensely helpful—Meg only had to ask her about something, and it was done. She was docile and respectful, and by maintaining a polite face, shut them both out entirely. Will was bothered slightly by this, but was busy enough with his other duties that it didn't affect him as much as it did Meg. For her part, she mourned over Leigh's distance, but could not bring herself to do anything forceful that might break down her wall.

"If you just pressed her a little, made her talk about her feelings, perhaps that would make a difference," Natalie suggested. "I know I would have kept you at arm's length forever if you hadn't kept pushing."

"Yes, but we had known each other for a while then, and if you recall, any time you felt uncomfortable, you told me and I could back off. I'm afraid that if I push Leigh, she won't feel that she's able to refuse to talk to me, and I might cause irreparable damage if I probe too deeply, too soon."

Natalie shrugged expressively, a very French gesture. "Then I think you'll just have to wait."

That Meg could do—but she hoped she wouldn't have to wait for long.

"Well, I think you're wise to hold off," Miss Beth said. She was sitting with the girls on the front porch: Natalie was sketching; Meg was sewing a white, ruffled baby garment ("Not for me!" she assured Miss Beth. "My cousin Jocelyn is expecting an addition to their family next winter."); Miss Beth was sitting with her hands idle, eyes following Leigh as she wandered through the garden. "She'll warm up to you and Will in time, just as Natie did, just as everyone in the village has. Goodness, the poor girl's life has been turned upside down; you can't expect her to be bubbling over with effervescent spirits.

"Now, have you heard anything more from your brother?"

Meg nodded, her face lighting up. "Yes, he and Michiko will be getting in to Avonlea next week, and Matt says that the week after that, they'll come here, since Will and I can't come to them. Oh, Miss Beth, it is so good of you to offer them a room to stay."

"Nonsense," she said briskly. "It does this house good to be used. Natie and I rattle around in it all day alone. These walls were meant to be soaked with children's laughter, with maidens' dreams and young men's schemes, with joy and sorrow alike. Instead, it just sits, waiting to live."

Natalie looked up from her sketch and frowned. "Does that mean you and I are just … ghosts?"

"Not at all, dear. We're just too few for a house this size. Hosting your brother and his bride will be a pleasure, Meg."

"How long has it been since you've seen him?" Natalie asked.

"He left the summer after we turned eighteen," Meg said. "We're twenty-one now … three years." She smiled ruefully. "Not as long as many wartime separations, but for twins, it feels like a lifetime!"

"Is he much like you?"

Meg shook her head in answer to Natalie's query, then paused. "In some ways, I suppose. But he's much quieter than me, and much wiser. He sees into people—in a good way, not in a gruesome gothic romance way." She tossed her hands into the air impatiently. "Oh, I can't describe him! He's my brother, and I love him, and I can't wait to see him and meet my new sister."

* * *

Two weeks later, the village of Grey Harbour turned out to see the arrival of Missus Reverend's brother and his foreign wife. Meg certainly hadn't told anyone besides Miss Beth and Natalie about Matt's arrival, and neither of them were given to gossip, but somehow, in that mysterious way villages have, everyone knew about it, and everyone was curious. Most were kindly inclined, thinking anyone related to their Missus Reverend was acceptable, especially if they were staying at North Wind, but some few grumbled about letting foreigners into their little harbour.

"How do we know she's not a spy?" Young Pete Gautier demanded at the general store the evening before the Blythes were to arrive. Young Pete had just missed the war by a few days, and felt keenly his lack of opportunity. If only, he was wont to say, he had turned eighteen sooner, he could have been a general by now.

The rest of the village was privately convinced that Canada was saved by Young Pete's age. "Knowing him, he could have lost the war at the eleventh hour," Scotty MacNamara said, to general amusement and agreement.

"Don't speak nonsense, Peter," Mrs. Callum, the general store owner, said crisply. "She's just a child."

"Old enough to be married is old enough to spy," Leon Moiret said. He didn't really think Young Peter was right, but he disliked Mrs. Callum (village rumour had it that he had wanted to marry her after Mr. Callum died, and she sent him packing), and made it a principle to disagree with her whenever he could.

"What good would spying do them?" Scotty MacNamara demanded. Scotty actually had fought in the war, one of the few from the village who had gone. "They've not got enough military left to do any damage. 'Sides, it isn't as though Grey Harbour is crucial to the defence of Canada, or even PEI."

Everyone glared at him for that, for daring to hint that their little village was of less importance in the world than it was to them.

"Pack of gossiping fishwives, you lot are," Mrs. Murdoch grumbled on her way out the door with her purchases. "They're related to Reverend and Missus, and that's good enough for me."

And there didn't really seem to be anything to say after that.

Though only Young Pete really thought it likely Michiko was a spy, everyone still wanted to see her and the young mechanic who was her husband. And so it was, as Matt and Michiko rumbled into town in their battered old truck, that the villagers lined the streets to see them.

Which meant they were privileged to see the reunion, after three years separation, between Meg and Matt. Picking up a few groceries in the general store, she heard that familiar rumble and dropped everything to rush outside, followed closely by a grinning Will and a tentative Leigh. With a smile as wide and sweet as Meg's own, the young brown-skinned, brown-haired young man in the truck stopped in the middle of the street and leaped out to crush his sister in a hearty hug.

Even Young Pete felt something tickle the back of his throat at that, and muttered something to Leon about the "confounded dust."

Then Matt helped Michiko out, carefully presenting her to Meg and Will as though she was made of the purest glass, and Leon gave Young Pete a disgusted look.

"Spy, indeed," he mumbled, and pushed past him to leave the family to their introductions. All around, people were suddenly remembering urgent chores that took them elsewhere, and soon only Young Peter was left, standing across the street and staring for all he was worth.

Meg and Matt were oblivious to all the activity around them.

"You haven't changed a bit, sis," Matt said with his old familiar grin.

"You haven't—and you have," Meg laughed back. At first glance, he didn't look any different, just older. Once you looked more closely into his eyes, though, you saw a change. Meg wasn't sure at first if it was a change for the better or worse. Then he brought Michiko forward, and from the light on his face when he looked at his young bride, Meg knew it was a change for the better.

"Meg, this is Michiko," he said proudly. "Michi, this is my sister Meg, and her husband Will, and this," smiling at the girl hovering on the outskirts of the group, "must be Leigh."

She smiled back shyly, but Meg's attention was focused on her new sister.

Michiko was small and slight, with irregular features. Her hair was thick and lovely, though, and her eyes were such a deep, soft brown that they almost looked black.

She could have been the ugliest woman in the world and Meg still would have loved her for Matt's sake. The uncertain smile she gave them won Meg over on her own account.

"I'm so happy to meet you, Michiko," she said, pulling the younger woman into a warm hug.

At that, even Young Pete decided that he didn't really need to see anything more.

"Good to see you, Matt," Will declared, pulling his brother-in-law into a one-armed hug.

"Same here," Matt said cheerfully.

Then Will hugged Michiko, and Matt hugged Leigh, and Meg hugged Michiko again for good measure, and slowly, they walked on toward the PA, talking and laughing.

Matt only went a few steps before slapping his forehead and dashing back to move the truck out of the middle of the street.

"I can't believe Papa gave you the truck," Meg said.

"I can't believe you drove it all this way without it breaking down," Will said.

Matt grinned at them from the driver's seat. "Who says it didn't?"


	21. Chapter 21

Meg found that her concerns about Michiko (or Michi, as Matt soon had them all calling her) vanished the moment the new sisters hugged, nevermore to return. She was understandably shy, but eager to please everyone, who in turn were more than ready to be pleased with her. It didn't hurt that she very obviously adored Matt.

"He was so brave," she told Meg one afternoon as the girls were walking along the shore. Natalie had taken one look at the new Mrs. Blythe and declared her the perfect subject for her portrait. Michi wasn't sure, but Matt coaxed her into it, telling Natalie he'd buy it after the gallery showing. So long as Matt would be the owner, Michi decided, it was all right.

So the four girls were spending much of their time along the shore, trying to find the perfect location for the portrait.

"He rescued me, not just from the guards, but from shaming my family. By marrying me, he showed that he thought of me as worthy …" she trailed off, seeing the look of horror on Meg's face. A flash of pain crossed her own. "But of course! You must feel your brother disgraced your family's honour by marrying one such as me."

"No, never!" Meg said hastily. "Michi dear, I am so happy that Matt married you. It's just … our cultures are so very different. I can't imagine living under the burden that you did, of always having to maintain honour as you did. It just made me sad, that's all, thinking of how it must have been for you."

Michi remained politely uncomprehending, but knowing that her husband's family loved and accepted her was enough; she didn't have to understand their ways.

"He's been so kind, too," she said, returning to Matt. "He taught me English, told me all about Canada, and is teaching me how to become a farmer's wife." She laughed. "I am even going to make bread and someday milk a cow!"

Meg laughed, too.

"He's asked me to teach him my language, even, because he says he wants me to always hold to my culture. Despite our nations' enmity, he says there is much to be proud of in my Japanese heritage, and he does not want me to lose that."

The look of wonder of Michi's face as she quoted her new husband brought a lump to Meg's throat. She had always known that Matt was remarkably; she was delighted that he had married someone who shared her opinion, perhaps even thought more highly of him than she herself did. Which was, she conceded, thinking of Will's high regard for her, as it ought to be.

"Everyone has been kind. Your honoured father has made me most welcome, even calling me 'daughter,' and your aunt and uncle and cousins … Matt says we will meet the rest of the family eventually, but he doesn't want to overwhelm me at first."

Meg took Michi's hand in hers and squeezed it. "We would have loved you for no other reason than that Matt did, Michi, but now that we've met you, we love you for you."

She wanted to ask how the rest of Avonlea was reacting to having an "enemy" in their midst, but didn't want to make Michi uncomfortable. She knew she could ask Matt, later, and hear his view on the matter.

"Here!" Natalie called, running back toward them over the firm sand. "I've found the perfect spot. Come see!" She grabbed Michi's free hand and tugged her forward. Meg let them go, waiting for Leigh to catch up.

She smiled at the young girl. "I hope we aren't boring you, Leigh. I wish there was more chance for you to spend time with children your own age. Unfortunately, most of them are working with their parents right now. They'll have more free time in the autumn and winter, when school is back in session and the fishing season is over."

In truth, by the time most of the village children were Leigh's age, they were done with school and working full-time with their parents. Legally, they were supposed to stay in school until they were sixteen, but what could one do when faced with a choice between feeding one's family or getting an education?

Meg didn't want to discourage Leigh, though, and she knew that there were a few families that at least kept their daughters in school longer ("They might as well be in school as wasting time around the house," one fisherman ungraciously put it).

"Oh, I'm not bored," Leigh said quickly. "I'm used to being alone."

Meg paused, looking down at Leigh's smooth head quizzically. "Even at boarding school?"

Leigh shrugged, her eyes on the ground.

"Well, that relieves my mind in one way, at least," Meg said after a moment.

Leigh looked up. Meg smiled.

"Here I've been thinking we took you away from all your friends when we brought you to live with us here."

Leigh shook her head. "Oh, no. No, you didn't take me away from anything."

Meg wondered at that, but Natalie came darting back just then, insisting they come see how perfect Michi looked against the rocks, with the waves tossing spray up around her feet, and any non-artistic conversation became an impossibility after that.

* * *

Later that week, Meg and Matt had a chance to talk alone together, in the kitchen of the PA while the rest were all at North Wind. Natalie's birthday was the next day, and Meg was baking a cake for her.

"So what do you think of her?" Matt asked at once.

"Well, it's plain to see you're smitten," Meg teased.

Matt grinned in acknowledgment. "When we first married, I mostly just pitied her," he said calmly. "But the longer we spent together, the more I found myself falling in love. And now … well, I'm just head-over-heels, I guess."

Meg burst out laughing. "You! You spend our entire life calmly observing everyone else and staying distant from it all, and when you finally decide to involve yourself in something, you certainly do it with a vengeance!"

Matt laughed too. "It must run in the family. Look at Pop! He never even thought about a girl, just laughed at his brothers and friends for all of their romances, until he met Mama, and then boom. He's still in love with her, even though she's been gone for more than twenty years."

Meg shook her head. "Oh, these Blythe men."

"But you haven't answered my question. What do you think of her?"

"I think she's marvellous."

"Truly? You're not just saying that because she's my wife?"

"_Truly_, Matt. She—she's like a little bird, darting here and there, nervous and shy, and yet full of merriment and song once she's at ease."

"And you don't blame me for marrying one of 'the enemy'?" Matt's grim face as he said those last two words showed that some people, at least, had made their opinions known.

Meg rolled her eyes. "Matt, I almost became a pacifist when Hawk and I were dating. I am the _last_ person to judge an individual based on which side he or she was on during the war. Besides, Michi is as much a victim of the war as anyone. She never would have ended up in that brothel if it hadn't been for—"

"What we did to Japan," Matt finished soberly. "I tell you, Meg, sometimes I feel this war destroyed humanity, regardless of who won it. The cruelties, the atrocities that were committed, by both sides, and justified as necessary … well, it's almost enough to turn me pacifist, too."

"How has everyone back home reacted to her?" Meg asked, curious to see how his clearer vision differed from Michi's humble gratitude.

"Pop loves her, of course, and Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick and all their lot have been swell about it all. Joss took her right under her wing, and Evie adores her. Johnny and Angharad, too, like her. She and Angharad both feel a little awkward, the foreign newcomer, so I think they're glad to have each other. Most of the Avonlea folks whisper behind their hands whenever they see us coming."

Meg felt a flash of anger at that. "Those old cats," she said.

Matt laughed. "I love it when you get angry, sis. It happens so rarely, but when it comes—look out!" He stuck his hands in his pockets casually. "I knew it would be hard, but you know the Avonlea gossips—they'd act just the same if I'd married a Yankee, or even a Canadian not from the Island. In time, they'll come to accept Michi."

"They'd better," Meg said viciously, stirring her cake batter so vigorously it slopped over the sides of the bowl and she had to wipe down the table.

* * *

Natalie's birthday was a day full of fun for all of them. She hadn't expected anyone to make note of the day, and so was delightfully surprised when they took her down to the shore for a picnic luncheon. Even Miss Beth went, though Natalie fussed that she shouldn't walk so far.

"I am not in my grave yet, Natie," Miss Beth said with some aspersion. "Nor am I an invalid. I am old, that's all, but I think I can still manage a birthday party out of doors."

Still, both Meg and Natalie watched her cautiously throughout the day, as they had noticed her coughing more over the winter, and moving more slowly through the spring.

Natalie was pleased enough with the picnic, and even more surprised at the presents the others piled in her lap after they had finished the last crumb of Meg's cake.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's your birthday, silly," Meg said, tossing a flower from the decorations at her. "You always get presents on your birthday."

"I never have," Natalie said in a low voice, shaking her hair to partially cover her face.

There was a brief pause, broken by Matt's whistle. "We should have gotten you far more than we did, then, to make up for all those past years. Don't hold it against us?"

Natalie laughed, tossed her head back proudly, and faced them all with blazing joy plain upon her face. "I won't!"

She cooed in delight over the poetry book from Will's library, the canvas and watercolours from Matt and Michi, the knitted sweater and cap from Miss Beth, and the crimson and blue woven wall hanging the Carters had sent as their contribution.

"They wanted to be here as well," Meg explained, "but they had already made plans to visit their grandson in Montreal."

Finally, Meg placed a small wrapped gift in Natalie's lap.

"But you and Will already gave me something!" she exclaimed.

"The poetry was from Will and Leigh," Meg corrected. "This is from me."

Natalie unwrapped it to see a small silver frame holding a picture of her and Meg standing in the Windy Poplars' garden. Mr. Carter had snapped them there one day when Meg had accompanied Natalie for her lesson. The two had their arms around each other and were laughing into the camera.

It was quite the contrast from when Meg and Will had first come to Grey Harbour, and Natalie had snubbed Meg at every turn. Not only were the two friends now, Natalie's entire outlook on life had changed. She had hope now, a future; she no longer had to hide her true nature behind a scandalous mask to protect her sister. The laughing girl in the photograph didn't look anything like the woman Natalie used to see in the mirror every morning.

She leaned over and kissed Meg's cheek. "Thank you, darling." She smiled brilliantly and looked around to include them all. "Thank every one of you!"

"And God bless us, every one," Will muttered _sotto voce_, and dodged Meg's playful swat.

God had blessed them, Meg decided, gazing around their small circle. Natalie and Miss Beth, Matt and Michiko, even poor shy Leigh … most especially, he had blessed her and Will.

And if the suspicions she was starting to have were correct, they would be blessed with something—someone—else by this time next year.


	22. Chapter 22

By August, Meg was certain that she was expecting. Not only had she missed three cycles, she was sick. Very, very sick. She started throwing up the moment she awoke in the morning, and didn't stop until she went to bed. She was shaky and weak—even walking to North Wind became too much of a chore, especially in the heat.

"Meg," Will said to her one hot, sticky evening. Leigh had volunteered to wash up the supper dishes, and Will had helped Meg onto the front steps where she could catch the small amount of breeze available. "This is more than the 'flu, darling. Something is wrong: you need to see a doctor."

And Meg looked at him and laughed shakily. "You mean you haven't guessed?" And she told him her condition.

Leigh, inside, heard a sudden gasp, silence, and then a whoop loud enough to shatter the summer calm. She came darting out, sure something dreadful had happened, only to see her cousin laughing and crying and kissing Meg, who proceeded to clamp a hand over her mouth and dart to the washroom.

* * *

At Will's insistence, they all three travelled to Glen St. Mary the next week so Uncle Jem could examine Meg. She tried to tell him that she was fine, that morning sickness was a normal part of pregnancy, but he overrode her objections.

"Nausea may be normal, but surely this exhaustion and light-headedness isn't," he said, so firmly that Meg forbore to argue any more. She didn't really have the energy to contradict him, anyhow.

Grandmother and Granddad and Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem welcomed them delightedly to Ingleside, and Meg vaguely wished she felt well enough to enjoy her first trip to the Glen as a married woman. Aunt Betsy, Uncle Bruce, and Gabe visited from the manse, bringing along Aunt Una's adopted daughter Katy. Una herself was in Toronto, visiting Will's Uncle Kip, as Aunt Betsy explained with a delighted smile.

Meg smiled weakly back. "That's wonderful news," she said softly, too tired to raise her voice above a whisper. She was lying on the sofa in Ingleside's parlour, utterly exhausted by the trip. "I really am happy, Aunt Betsy—and delighted to see you all—don't take my lack of enthusiasm to mean I don't care. I'm just oh, so tired, and so queasy that I think I'd better stop talking now." She laid her head back and closed her eyes.

Aunt Betsy patted her hand. "Don't fret, Joanna. Nobody will hold your weariness against you." They wouldn't even if she weren't pregnant, but unspoken in the back of Betsy's mind, as in the rest of the family, was the thought of Cecily, lost in the effort to bring children forth into the world.

"Of course," Uncle Jem said to Granddad and Will, after examining Meg, "Cecily's body had given all its strength in the battle against tuberculosis. Meg's always been stronger than her mother ever was."

"But?" Will said, anxiously chewing his lip at hearing the worried note in Dr. Jem's voice.

"But, I would still recommend complete bedrest, at least for the next few months, if not until the baby is born. Meg is far more weakened by this pregnancy than is normal, and I don't want to take any chances with her health or the baby's."

"Right," Will said, nodding. "We can do that."

"Are you certain?" Granddad asked, his hazel eyes as keen as ever under his grey hair. "She will need someone by her side constantly, as well as someone to take care of the basic household chores, such as meals. And it would be wise if she was near someone with medical knowledge, in case she suddenly takes a turn for the worse. It's a large responsibility, Will, and while I know you and Leigh are willing to take it on, the two of you alone might not be enough, especially since you have your ministerial duties to attend to, and Leigh is a young girl and will be starting school in another month."

"What do you suggest then, sir?" Will asked, knowing the elder Dr. Blythe would not preach such a dour message if he didn't have a beacon of hope at the end.

"Let Meg stay here until the baby is born. Leigh can stay as well, if you like. Faith and Anne will be more than delighted to look after them both, and this way both Jem and myself will be on hand. Leigh can attend school at the Glen, and she and Katy are close to the same age, I'm sure they will become great friends. It will be hard on you, lad, but …"

Will waved aside that objection. "That doesn't matter. I can look after myself. It's Meg and the baby that are important. If you really think this is the best plan, Dr. Blythe, then I'll do it."

Granddad and Uncle Jem both nodded. "I wouldn't have thought of it myself," the younger doctor said, "But Father is right. It really is the simplest and best answer."

"I'll go tell Meg, then," Will said, sighing a little at the thought of being parted from his beloved wife until spring, with only random visits when he could get away from Grey Harbour.

What he'd told the Blythe doctors was true, however: he would endure anything—even another war—if it only meant he could hold his wife and child at the end of it.

* * *

They all had reckoned without Meg herself, however. When Will first proposed the idea to her, she sat bolt upright on the sofa. "What nonsense!" she exclaimed, and then had to be helped (quickly) to the washroom.

"What nonsense," she repeated more quietly, back on the sofa with a glass of water at hand. "Of course I can't leave you—and our church folk—for six to seven months. I will do quite well at the PA, with you and Leigh at hand, and Natie and Miss Beth available."

"But darling, there's no doctor at Grey Harbour," Will said, kneeling by her side and holding her hand.

"Women have endured pregnancies for centuries without a doctor there to baby them," Meg responded spiritedly.

"Your mother, dear one—" Will started.

"Mama had tuberculosis, and was carrying twins, to boot," Meg said. "If I follow doctor's orders and stay in bed or on the sofa, and let others take care of me, I will be just fine."

"We don't have a sofa," Will said triumphantly.

"Then I'll push two chairs together and put pillows on them," Meg countered.

Will sighed and glared at her, with a hint of a smile behind the glare. As much as he wished Meg would listen to her grandfather's suggestion, he did enjoy seeing her so feisty. "Woman, I wish I had let Uncle Bruce include 'obey' in our marriage vows."

"Too late now, Mr. Ashton," Meg said saucily. "Will dear," she added more seriously, "The people of Grey Harbour—our people—how will they feel if I just leave them, and you, at the first sign of difficulty or trouble? How many of those women have endured pregnancies and illnesses far more difficult and dangerous than mine? We are part of the community now, and I won't abandon them out of fear."

And Will, though he wanted to, could not argue with that.

"I suggest a compromise," Grandmother said, coming in from unabashedly eavesdropping in the hall.

"What's that, Grandmother?"

"It's the first few months that are the hardest, and the most dangerous," she said, coming over and taking Will's seat, which he had vacated for her with his innate old-fashioned courtesy. "How about if Meg and Leigh stay here for the next month or so, and then, so long as everything is progressing well and safely, travel back to Grey Harbour for the rest of the pregnancy."

As with most compromises, this left no one satisfied. Meg didn't want to be away from Will and Grey Harbour at all, especially not for their first anniversary. Uncle Jem and Granddad didn't want to let her go back to Grey Harbour until after the baby was born. Will was torn between wanting to please his wife and wanting to keep her safe.

In the end, as no one would yield his or her position, Grandmother's suggestion was adopted. Leigh and Will went back temporarily to fetch clothing and other essentials Meg and Leigh would need while at Ingleside, and to let people know they would be without Missus Reverend for just a few weeks.

When they came back, it was with news that at least mostly reconciled Uncle Jem and Granddad to Meg eventually returning to Grey Harbour. Miss Beth, upon hearing the dilemma, had promptly offered her guest rooms to Will, Meg and Leigh for when they would return. With three other women in the house, Meg would be amply looked after, and Miss Beth herself had some training as a nurse, and would be able to help Meg through any unexpected complications until a doctor could reach them.

The elder Blythes would still have preferred to keep Meg with them, but as she had shown them a stubborn streak as unexpected and well-hidden as Matt's romantic side, they yielded to the inevitable.

As for Meg and Leigh, they settled into life at Ingleside smoothly, and with little difficulty. Meg felt disloyal admitting it, but it was nice to be back in a house that was beautifully decorated, pleasant inside and out, and not bright pink.

If only they could have somehow transported Ingleside and its inhabitants back to Grey Harbour, and established Will in the house as well, she would have been perfectly content.

* * *

She hadn't been settled in Ingleside for one day before Polly—bright, beautiful, copper-haired Polly—came flying down the road from the Douglas house to visit.

"Oh Meg, I'm so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, falling to her knees beside Meg's sofa and embracing her dramatically.

Polly always wore a light jasmine scent, one that was so associated with her in Meg's mind that the younger woman usually didn't even notice it, but today seemed strong and overpowering. Meg didn't even have a chance to return Polly's greeting before she was bolting to the washroom yet again.

"I'm sorry," she said when she returned. "How are you, Polly?"

Polly looked a little pale. "Oh Meg, are you really all right? When Elliott came home and told me you were here because Granddad thought it best for your health, I just thought he was being over-protective. Dearest … you will be all right?"

"I'll be fine, Polly," Meg said with determination. "Nausea is perfectly normal for pregnant women."

"I was never nauseous …" Polly said doubtfully.

Meg mock-glared at her. "I do not want to hear about that."

Polly finally relaxed into a smile, and then laughed. "Oh Meg, I have missed you."

"Where is Davie?" Meg asked. Polly never went anywhere without her little son.

Polly rolled her green eyes. "With his grandmother Douglas. She takes him every chance she possibly gets, and if I ever protest, she just tells me how much more she knows about raising children than I do, and …"

Meg understood. Polly had never been particularly good at standing up for herself, especially not to one as forceful as Mary Vance Douglas.

"Elliott is so good with him, though," Polly continued brightly. "Davie was a little scared of him at first, but now he loves his 'Fader' and follows him around every chance he gets."

The girls were alone in the parlour, as everyone else was outside enjoying the sunshine, so Meg felt safe enough asking:

"And how are things between you and Elliott?"

"Fine," Polly said quickly.

Meg raised her eyebrows.

Polly sighed. "I never could keep anything from you. How do you do that, darling? We really are fine—but nothing more. Elliott is always polite to me, the perfect gentleman. And I'm just as polite to him … but we never seem to connect. I don't even know what his favourite meal is; I've asked him, but he just says that whatever I cook will be fine."

She looked down and fiddled with her wedding ring. "And I'm no better. He asked me the other day if I wanted to go for a walk to Four Winds. I did, but I just said only if he wanted to, and then he said well, if I didn't care he probably should do some work around the house instead. And all I could think was that Pierre would have known, he wouldn't have even asked. And then I felt guilty thinking that, because Elliott is my husband, and I shouldn't be thinking of another man, even one who is dead, and so I was uncomfortable and quiet all day, and … well, that's just the way of it."

"Poor Elliott," Meg said.

Polly looked a little piqued. "Why poor Elliott and not poor Polly?"

"Because you're not competing against a dead woman's memory. Polly, of course you're going to remember Pierre as perfect, but really, was he? Remember, you and he only communicated by letter for most of your acquaintance. You never had a chance to know if he was that thoughtful … maybe he snored, and would have kept you awake, or picked his teeth after a meal, or …" Polly was crying now, and Meg stopped in consternation. "Oh, don't cry, dear. I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

"No—you're right," Polly sniffed, wiping her eyes with a dainty linen handkerchief. "But Meg—I can't think of him that way. It feels disloyal to his memory, to allow myself to admit that maybe he wasn't perfect, that maybe he would have been just as human as Elliott."

Meg put her arms around her cousin and let her cry. After a while, Polly calmed down, and Meg began to speak her heart.

"Maybe you're trying too hard, with Elliott," she said. "Maybe you should try being friends first, before you try to force yourselves to feel like husband and wife. Talk to each other … get to know each other. Put aside your expectations as to how husbands and wives ought to be, and just learn how you two can be happy."

"You give good advice, as always," Polly said. "Now can you tell me how to turn aside Mrs. Douglas's expectations?"

Meg laughed ruefully. "I'm afraid that is beyond even my abilities!"


	23. Chapter 23

The sun was slowly sinking out of sight into the harbour, turning the water to liquid gold. From her seat on Ingleside's porch, Meg released her breath in a sigh that mingled happiness and regret.

"Tired, darling?" Grandmother asked.

"No more than usual," Meg said with a smile. "No, just missing Grey Harbour. The sunsets were—are—spectacular there. Natie and Will and I would always sit on the rocks just below The House and watch them, just before Will and I would take our daily walk. We wouldn't say anything, just sit there and be happy together, the three of us."

"Is it Grey Harbour you're missing, or Will and Natalie?" Grandmother asked shrewdly.

"Everything," Meg said succinctly. "Oh Grandmother, it feels like I'm going to be pregnant forever."

"But you won't be—before you know it, you'll have a sweet wee one in your arms, and then you'll blink and he or she will be grown before your eyes, getting married and having children of their own!"

"Oh, Grandmother! My baby's not even born and you're already trying to marry him—her—off!"

Grandmother laughed, and even quiet Leigh, sitting with them, giggled a little.

"Him or her? Do you have any inklings one way or the other?"

Meg shook her head. "I won't let myself speculate. I keep thinking about Jane and Joss, how they were both convinced that they were having the opposite of what they did have. So then, whenever I think I'm having a boy, I say, oh, I must be having a girl then, but then I think that since I now think I'm having a girl, I must really be having a boy, and then I get so confused that I have to stop thinking altogether."

Grandmother chuckled. "It does sound exhausting. Well, I'm going to avail myself of the privilege of age, and I'm going to guess that you are having … a boy. Leigh, what do you think?"

"A girl," Leigh said.

"And Mrs. Douglas told me it was a boy, and Aunt Faith thinks it's a girl, and that dreadful Miss Howard told me yesterday when she came to call that I must be having twins because my face has gotten so fat."

"Irene Howard always was a fool," Grandmother said serenely. "And wisdom has not come with age. Ah, here's Walt, back from the Douglas's. Walter, how is the fair Una?"

Walt blushed like a schoolboy at the mention of his fiancee. "Beautiful as the morn," he said, proving his gift for poetry had not faded with age and war.

"It seems so right to have a Walter and Una matched up," said Grandmother, watching the young man amble into the house. By now the romance-that-never-was between Uncle Walter and Aunt Una had passed into family legend. "But oh, it will be sad when they move to the city so Walter can take up his professorship! Lily has gone to England to become Countess of Whitmore. There will not be another generation born and raised in this house, not unless Gilbert and I can persuade any of Rilla's children to take up their abode with us."

Before either Leigh or Meg could reply, Uncle Jem poked his head out the door. "Sun's down—time to come inside, Meg."

Meg made a face. "Uncle Jem, if I didn't love you so much, I'd say you were a positive old woman with all your fussing over me."

Her uncle laughed at her as he picked her up just as easily as if she was a baby herself again and carried her in to the sofa. "You can call me whatever you want, so long as you do what I ask and stay well."

Meg rested a hand on her abdomen. She hated all the pother over her pregnancy—but she knew that she would endure far worse for the sake of her child.

_Her child._ How odd it seemed, to think of being a mother! She had known it would happen someday, but she and Will had planned on waiting a while yet, especially with Leigh just starting to adapt to their family. In no time, it seemed, they had gone from being a cosy couple to a family of almost-four. She still hadn't really grasped the reality of it all, and suspected she wouldn't until the babe was actually in her arms.

What would the child be like? Boy or girl? Her chestnut curls or Will's unruly mop? Brown eyes or blue? Would she be solemn or merry? Would he inherit Will's love for books, or her own affinity to the woods and sea?

Pondering such matters as mothers have since Eve, Meg fell asleep with her hand cupped around her womb, and a smile on her lips.

* * *

Meg was sitting on a chair in the kitchen after lunch the next day, chatting with Aunt Faith about Walt and Una's upcoming nuptials, when Uncle Jem strolled in with a grin on his face.

"How are we today, Meggie?"

"We're fine," Meg said. "Why? Are you going to forbid me something else I enjoy?" She kept a smile on her face to show him she was just teasing.

He laughed—Uncle Jem was certainly the jolliest of all the uncles, and always had been. "Not at all! In fact, I have something here that I think you will enjoy very much, indeed." He stepped aside, and Meg let out a squeal.

"Wild Rose!"

Rose Templestowe, nee Greye, rushed forward and launched herself into Meg's outstretched arms.

"Darling!" she cried. "I've missed you so!"

"When did you get here? We weren't expecting you and Geoff until next week!"

Rose picked her hat up off the floor, where it had landed in her dash to greet Meg, and tossed it carelessly onto the table. "When I heard that you were confined to bed, I told Geoff we had to change our honeymoon plans so that we got here sooner, so I could cheer you up."

"And he didn't mind?"

Rose smiled. "Meg, haven't you learned yet? Geoff does whatever I tell him, don't you, love?"

"Of course," a pleasant masculine voice answered from the doorway. Rose darted back and grabbed her husband's hand, pulling him forward to meet Meg. "Darling, this is my Meg. Meg, this is Geoff. Now, don't the two of you adore each other already?"

Meg looked, and saw a tall young man with brown hair and pleasant features, who smiled at his wife with such an expression of amused, understanding affection, that she did indeed "adore" him at once.

For his part, Geoffrey Templestowe, the third, saw a young woman who was perhaps a bit paler than normal, a bit thinner than he would have expected from someone in her condition, but with the sweetest smile he'd ever seen and warm, dancing brown eyes, and he proved his wife's percipience by "adoring" her, as well.

Rose smiled triumphantly. She hadn't changed a bit, being just as tiny, and vibrant, and glowing as ever. "There, I knew the two of you would love each other."

"But we haven't said one word to each other yet!" Meg protested.

"Goodness, child, who needs words when you have eyes?"

Meg laughed, and introduced her friends to her family, and for the first time since leaving Grey Harbour and Will, felt truly happy.

* * *

It didn't take long for the rest of the family to fall under Rose's spell. Grandmother Blythe saw someone similar to her own dear Philippa, friend of her Redmond days, while Aunt Faith declared that Rose made her feel just like a girl again. Granddad and Uncle Jem took note of Meg's glowing cheeks and her increased spirits and wished they could prescribe Rose to all their patients. Walt was charmed by her interest in Una, and even shy Una blossomed like a blush rosebud in her warm presence. Polly, who had expected to be jealous of Meg's friend, found her reserve melting under Rose's sunny spirit, and little Davie called her "pwetty lady" and always wanted to kiss her.

Most amazing, to Meg, was how quickly and easily Leigh took to Wild Rose. The timid, quiet girl hadn't even opened up much to Grandmother, but around Rose she laughed and chattered—yes! even chattered! Her pale cheeks took on a healthy flush, and her soft blue eyes sparkled until they looked like Will's.

"What did you do to her?" Meg asked Rose in amazement.

Rose shrugged. "She's like a wild animal—no, not a wild animal, a tame animal that has been left to fend for itself in the wild, and can't quite believe that it isn't going to be tossed back out into the cold again. I'm always taking in strays back home—you just need to treat them with patience and kindness, and give them their space until they grow to trust you."

"I thought that was what I _was_ doing," Meg sighed.

Rose patted her hand. "Leigh adores you, darling, and she's so afraid that you won't want her that she's afraid to let you see how she really feels."

"She told you that?"

"She didn't have to. I can see it in her face, her eyes whenever she looks at you."

It never occurred to Meg to doubt Rose. Her friend had an uncanny insight into human nature, for all her flippant attitude.

"How is Sam?" Meg asked now, by a natural association of ideas. Samantha was one of their school chums, a roommate whom Rose had coaxed out of her hard shell to become a dear friend. After graduation, she had gone to stay with Rose in Boston for a while.

"Oh, she's happily settled in Boston now," Rose reported. "She plays in an orchestra during the week, and alternates between two beaus on the weekends."

Meg laughed, and the two settled down to a happy gossip about many of their old friends.

Before Rose and Geoff left to continue their honeymoon, Rose promised Meg she would return next summer to see Grey Harbour, meet Will and the baby, and spend time in Meg's home.

"Not," Meg said with a sigh, "that it's anything like Ingleside, or your new home in Colorado, but still; it's mine and I'd like you to see it."

"I think Geoff and I are going to have to plan an annual visit to the Island," Rose said. "Don't you agree, Geoff?'

"If you'd like, my dear," said that paragon of agreeableness. Rose smiled complacently, reminding Meg of a kitten with a saucer of cream.

"That's settled, then. And some year, Meg, you and Will and Leigh and your brood of children will have to visit Colorado. It's darling, and all of Geoff's family remembers you from your visit when we were in school and they would adore seeing you again, and I know Leigh would love to learn how to ride a horse and go on a round-up—wouldn't you?"

And Leigh had to admit she would.

"We'll come when we can, and you come when you can, and between us we'll manage to see each other as often as we can," Meg said.

Rose kissed her on both cheeks. "To friendship!"

After the Templestowes left, life felt a little flat to those at Ingleside. They had all come to "adore" Rose, to borrow her favourite term, and with her gone some spice left their lives. Meg, however, felt a new glow of hope: she had been feeling much better for the last couple of weeks, and she was hopeful that next week, when Will came out to visit, Uncle Jem and Granddad would agree to let her go back home with him. Summer was over and September begun, her first wedding anniversary was approaching, her stomach was starting to remember how to stay in its proper place, and she wanted to go home.

Home to Grey Harbour.


	24. Chapter 24

Uncle Jem didn't like it, but Granddad overruled him to let Meg and Leigh return with Will, saying that one look at the delight on Meg's face when she saw Will again was enough to convince _him_ she belonged back at Grey Harbour, especially if she agreed to stay with Miss Beth.

Meg would have agreed to stay in a barn if it meant she could be with Will again. She would miss Grandmother and Granddad, and Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem, as well as the manse folks, but she found she was surprisingly ready to be "Missus Reverend" instead of "little Meggie" again.

"It's odd," she said to Leigh, as that girl was helping her pack (Meg was resting on the bed, feeling both lazy and useless, while Leigh neatly folded her clothes and laid them in the case). "I love my family—'adore' them, as Rose would say—and yet I can't help but be slightly irritated when Uncle Jem calls me Meggie instead of Meg, or Aunt Faith treats me like I'm twelve still. I've grown, and changed—for the better, I hope—and it's frustrating to constantly be with people who seem to think you're the child you were ten years ago." She smiled ruefully at Leigh. "That probably makes no sense to you at all."

"Not really," Leigh admitted candidly, slipping one of Grandmother's lavender sachets in amongst Meg's clothes. "Maybe when I'm an adult it will, though."

"Well, when you are full grown, if you find me still treating you like a child, remind me of our conversation here today, and I will do my utmost to stop."

"I will."

Ever since Rose and Meg's chat regarding Leigh, Meg had altered her approach to Leigh, just slightly. She was still warm and loving to the girl, but started treating her in a more matter-of-fact fashion, dropping little hints like the one she just had, about Leigh still being a part of their family when she was grown, trying to show the girl without saying outright that she was truly one of them, and that they were not going to abandon her.

It seemed to be working, at least a little. Leigh was smiling at her once in a while—and Leigh's smile was so sweet it made Meg's heart turn over—and even responding with more than monosyllables.

"Will you miss Katy, once we're back in Grey Harbour?" she asked now.

Leigh shook her head. "Katy's nice, but we—well, we don't really have much in common." She looked guilty as she said it, as though perhaps it was somehow her fault.

Meg understood. Hard though it was to believe in anyone growing up under Aunt Una's care, Katy was a loud, wild, little thing. She and Leigh had about as much in common as a wild clover and the cow who ate it.

"Katy can be exhausting," she said, smiling a little at her own understatement. "Hopefully she'll calm down as she grows older. Oh, Leigh! I am so looking forward to being home—even if 'home' for a while means North Wind. To tell you the truth, sometimes I feel like Miss Beth's house is more of a home than the PA."

"It is beautiful," Leigh acknowledged.

"More than its beauty—though of course you're right—it feels like a true home. Just like Ingleside and Green Gables, it welcomes you in, makes you feel loved. The PA is too uncomfortable with itself to welcome anybody. Leigh, I can't wait until this baby has come and we can take you to Avonlea so you can see Green Gables for yourself. And Tanglewood … and Echo Lodge … really, our family is full of houses that delight."

"Maybe," Leigh suggested shyly, "Maybe it's the family, and not the houses at all."

Meg smiled at her in delight. "What a beautiful thought! Leigh, I do believe you're a poet. Have you been spending time with Walt?"

"Walt's poems these days are all on a fair maiden with wheat-coloured hair and soft blue eyes," Aunt Faith said, coming in to see how they were doing. "I will be glad when he and Una are married and he can stop mooning about over her."

"Oh, Aunt Faith," Meg protested, laughing, "Surely the wedding just marks the beginning of the mooning!"

"Well, I wouldn't know. Jem and I never followed each other about with calf eyes, before or after our marriage. We knew we were meant for each other and that was that."

"No wonder Aunt Rilla calls you unromantic," Meg teased.

"Rilla has enough romance for our entire family," Aunt Faith said. "Maybe even for two families."

"Hello up there? How goes the packing? How are my beautiful wife and cousin?"

Meg leaned back against her pillow. Though normally as steadfast and calm as anyone, hearing Will's voice and knowing that she was going back home with him was enough to make her a little moony, herself.

"All set," Leigh said, closing Meg's case.

"Thank you so much, Leigh. Goodness, you all spoil me so much; after the baby comes I won't know how to do anything for myself anymore."

"You'll just sit around all day and listen to those soap operas Mary Vance Douglas insists she despises, when we all know she follows them faithfully," Aunt Faith said laughingly.

Will poked his head through the door. "Is it safe to enter this haven of femininity?" he asked.

"Perfectly," Meg said, her heart leaping at the sight of him. It had only been about six weeks since he had left for Grey Harbour and she stayed at Ingleside, but it seemed like six years. She found herself studying his dear face to see if it had changed in any ways—if he'd developed any new lines or wrinkles, or if his hair had started to grey without her.

Foolish! Well, she was willing to be foolish over her husband.

* * *

Natalie met the Ashtons and Leigh at the station in Miss Beth's car, piled high with rugs and blankets for Meg, who took one look at them and started to laugh.

"I'm not an invalid, Natie!"

"We promised Dr. Jem and your granddad we'd take exquisite care of you," Will said gravely, tucking her in. The twinkle in his eye gave him away, though. "You just sit back and let us fuss."

Meg stuck her tongue out at him, and Natalie laughed and kissed her cheek. "I've missed you, Meg!"

"And I've missed you. Tell me all the news. How did your show go? I was so sorry to miss it."

Natalie's eyes brightened at once, and her animated chatter filled the air the entire ride back to North Wind. Her show had been a resounding success, some of her works garnering praise even from Sylvia Kent, the world-famous portrait painter.

"She especially liked the one of Michi, and I received several offers on it, but I kept it for Matt," Natalie said. "Miss Kent said she thinks I have real promise as a portrait artist, more so than landscape or abstract, she said I have the knack of capturing people's spirits, what is 'behind the eyes' as she put it."

Meg had never heard Natalie talk so animatedly, so unreservedly. Her beauty was more apparent than ever as her eyes sparkled in the sunlight and her hair picked up a lustrous glow from the afternoon sun. Next to her, Meg felt plain and awkward and sickly, big as a cow in some places and wasted away in others. For just a moment, jealousy prickled in her soul.

Then she caught Will's eye as he winked lovingly at her, and it was if a fresh breeze from the sea blew all the unpleasant emotions right away. Meg snuggled back into her nest of blankets and listened to Natalie's triumphs with a glad smile on her face, and in her heart.

"We'll have to commissions you to paint our baby's portrait after he's born," Will told Natalie.

"I'll be glad to do one of _her_," Natalie said. "In fact, I'll do one every year, if you'll let me."

"Isn't it nice to have talented friends?" Will asked Meg, looking over at her to see that her eyes were closed and her breathing slow and steady.

"She's asleep," Leigh reported unnecessarily.

The other two hushed at once, and the drive was completed in silence, letting the weary mother-to-be rest.

* * *

"We certainly are glad you're back, Missus Revered," yet another visitor told Meg. She had been ensconced in North Wind's front parlour for less than a day, and it already seemed as though half the village had dropped by to say hello. Meg was both touched and humbled by this show of love … and more than a little glad she had overruled Uncle Jem and Granddad's initial plan. This was where she belonged.

"Singing's been dreadful in church," Mrs. Murdoch told her. "Reverend's a mighty fine preacher, but he's got a voice like an old crow."

Meg stifled a giggle. "I'm afraid it will be a while yet before I'm able to play for you all again."

"Ah well, what can't be cured must be endured," Mrs. Murdoch said philosophically. "My, Missus, that's some pretty work you've got there!"

Meg, though she had never cared particularly for handiwork, had started piecing a quilt for the baby to keep herself from going mad from confinement. While chatting with Mrs. Murdoch, she had pulled the soft yellow and brown fabric from her basket and started working on it.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm no expert at quilting, but I do love the thought of seeing my baby sleeping under something I made for him or her."

"I wish I could do something like that," Sally Murdoch said wistfully. "I haven't got any talent at all."

"Why Sally, you are your mother's strong right arm!" Meg said.

"Sweeping and washing and cooking isn't the same thing at all," Sally said indignantly. "I'd love to be able to do something clever, like sewing pretty clothes, or making a baby quilt, or playing the piano and singing like you, Missus, or drawing like Miss Natalie, or, or … or anything!"

Then it was Meg had her brilliant thought; a way she could help some of the young women in the village without taking them away from their duties, and something she could do while on bedrest.

"Well, Sally," she said, "Seeing as how the season's just about ended and you'll have some more free time on your hands, so long as your mother has no objections, how would you like to come by once a week to learn how to do some of these things? I'm no expert, as I said, but what I know I will be happy to share. I'm sure Natalie wouldn't mind giving some basic art lessons … and who knows, you may find you have a knack or interest in one particular thing and really be able to develop it."

Sally flushed with excitement and hope. "Oh Ma, could I?"

"Well, I don't see why not," Mrs. Murdoch said. "Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind learning how to do some of that fancy sewing myself. Might be a good way to while away the winter nights, and I might even be able to sell some of it to help out."

"You're welcome, too, of course, and anyone else you think might be interested," Meg said brightly. "Everyone can pick one project they'd like to pursue, and Natalie and Miss Beth and I will do our best to help you. And if any of you know how to do something the rest of us don't, maybe you could teach us!"

At the thought of them teaching the talented and educated Missus Reverend anything, both Mrs. Murdoch and Sally preened themselves slightly.

Miss Beth laughed quietly at Meg after the two women left.

"Oh Miss Beth, I hope you don't mind that I invited them to your house! I was so excited, I didn't even stop to think."

"Nonsense, child, my house is yours to do with as you please. No, I'm laughing because I remember how eager you were to help the people of Grey Harbour 'better themselves' back when you and Will first arrived, and how you despaired of ever getting anywhere with them. Now, a year later, here you are, and you didn't even realise it."

Meg stopped, and then started to laugh, too. "Oh Miss Beth, you were right all along! All we had to do was live with the people, and love them, and the doors opened up on their own."


	25. Chapter 25

The first week of "class," Mrs. Murdoch, Sally, and Sally's friend Cassie came. Cassie wanted to learn to "draw like Miss Natalie;" Sally and Mrs. Murdoch both asked Meg to teach them how to quilt. Halfway through the lessons, Meg switched and asked Mrs. Murdoch to teach her something new, and found that the slim brown hands that were so adept at sewing and knitting were all thumbs when it came to mending a torn fishing net.

The next week, Leon Moiret's wife Nina joined them, asking Miss Beth to teach her a knit stitch that was "a mite fancier than just knit one, purl two." Then some more of Nina and Cassie's friends came along, and they and Leigh started working on a "secret project," sitting with their backs to the rest of the group and giggling loudly as they worked.

Nina's sister Anouk started coming, and Becky MacNamara, and before Meg knew it they had half the village women meeting once a week in Miss Beth's parlour. By the middle of November they were all advanced enough in their respective projects that Meg was only needed for occasional advice. Her own quilt for the baby was coming along well enough just through working on it in the evenings that she started reading aloud instead, consulting with Will beforehand about what books or passages he would recommend, and then leading a lively discussion afterward.

"Well," Mrs. Murdoch wasted no time in saying as Meg laid _Emma_ down (they had been reading various philosophers and theologians, and Meg wanted something a bit lighter), "I think Mr. Knightley was too good for that Emma, I do indeed!"

"Oh Ma, he was boring and old," Sally proclaimed. "Always telling her what she was doing wrong. I wanted her to marry Frank Churchill."

"Frank Churchill!" Nina Moiret said. "He was a good-for-nothing. _I_ think Jane Fairfax was too good for _him_."

"Jane should have married Mr. Knightley," Mrs. Murdoch said. "They were the best characters in the book, both willing to sacrifice themselves for others."

"Yes, but Mr. Knightley loved Emma," sighed Becky MacNamara. "And Jane loved Frank."

"I like Miss Bates and Mrs. Bates the best," Miss Beth said. "Oh, and Mr. Woodhouse. They are the most human characters in the entire book."

"I wish Miss Austen had written another book, one about Mrs. Weston, and what it was like to go from governess to wife and mother," said Anouk.

"That sounds like a request for _Jane Eyre_ to me," Miss Beth said to Meg.

Meg groaned and laughed, for she had never cared for the virtuous Jane and impassioned Mr. Rochester, finding the former depressingly good and the latter irritatingly overbearing.

"Who's Jane Ey-re?" Anouk asked, pronouncing the name carefully.

"The heroine of a novel by the same name," Miss Beth explained. "She is a governess who falls in love with her employer."

"Shameless hussy," Mrs. Murdoch sniffed.

"How many books did Miss Austen write?" Anouk said, leaving behind the improper governess for the moment.

Meg counted aloud. "_Emma, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Persuasion_ … oh, which one am I forgetting? I know there's one more."

"_Northanger Abbey_," Will supplied, entering through the kitchen. "The gothic novel parody, with the highly amusing Henry Tilney and the charmingly naive Catherine Morland."

"Now how do you know about these books, Reverend?" Mrs. Murdoch asked. "Seems to me they're women's reading."

"Jane Austen is for everyone," Will said. "I don't believe in 'women's books' or 'men's books.' I think all books are for everyone; I enjoy reading _Pride and Prejudice_ or _Heidi_ as much as I do Seneca or John Calvin or C. H. Spurgeon."

"Reverend's preaching again," one of the schoolgirls muttered, and a ripple of feminine laughter flowed through the room.

"Go ahead and laugh," Will said good-naturedly. "I can take it."

"Will's a far better reader than I," Meg said, smiling fondly at her husband. "I'd rather walk in the woods or along the shore, or sit and dream in the sunshine, while he's always got his nose in a book."

A clamour arose as all the women started telling their favourite leisure activities. Meg noticed that Leigh didn't say anything, and after the women collected their materials and left until next week, she drew the girl aside.

"What is it you like to do in your spare time, Leigh? I just realised this afternoon that I've never asked. You're always so good about joining in with whatever everybody else is doing."

Leigh shrugged, but when Meg didn't back down, she finally said reluctantly, "Well, I like to write, sometimes."

"Oh? What sort of things do you write?"

Leigh blushed. "Stories, mostly. Sometimes poetry, but it never sounds like your cousin Walter's—it's just silly. I know story-writing is a waste of time, so I don't do it very often, but sometimes … sometimes I just can't help myself."

"Whoever told you it was a waste of time?" Meg asked indignantly.

"The people I lived with until I went to boarding school, and then the teachers at school, too. They told me I needed to be thinking of ways I could earn my living, not wasting time on silly little things like stories."

Meg's brown eyes flashed. "What nonsense! Why, just look at Jane Austen's books. They're_ immortal_. Stories aren't silly, Leigh, they tell truths that nobody would understand or recognise else-wise."

Leigh smiled. "But Meg, they were right. Writing stories is fine for people who have that luxury, but I am going to have to earn my own way in the world, and I'd better be focusing on how to do that now."

Will had finished saying goodbye to the ladies and rejoined his wife and cousin in the parlour. "Leigh, maybe that was true once, but you're part of our family now. As long as Meg and I are living, you'll always have a home with us."

"We understand if you want to be independent," Meg added, "And we'll certainly do our best to help you get started in a career, if you choose, but you don't have to forgo doing something you love, like writing, just because you're worried about how you're going to live."

Leigh looked from one to the other, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. "But—I thought—I thought you were just keeping me until I turn eighteen, and then I was going to be on my own."

"Who told you that?" Will demanded.

"Nobody—but—but nobody ever—nobody ever wanted me as one of their own _family_ before."

Meg reached over and squeezed Leigh's hand. "Well, you're part of our family now. And no matter what, you'll always have us."

"In other words," Will said flippantly, hiding his emotions behind a grin, "You're stuck with us for life."

Leigh looked from one to the other yet again, not even seeming to notice the tear trickling down her cheek. "You mean it? I can live with you forever? You're not going to send me away as soon as I'm old enough to take care of myself?"

"Never," Will said firmly.

"Never," Meg echoed, just as fervently.

Leigh wiped her face and smiled brilliantly at them—the biggest smile either of them had yet seen from her. "I don't know what to say! I feel—I feel light as a feather! Thank you, oh, thank you so much!"

"Don't thank us, Leigh," Will said once she released her strangling hug from his neck. "We're the lucky ones, getting to keep you for good."

"Yes," Meg laughed, getting a choke-inducing hug in her turn. "I can't imagine where we'd be without you."

* * *

Some time later, after the paperwork had been filed and everything documented and legalised, Will and Leigh came proudly in to Meg to tell her that Leigh really was theirs now—she had legally changed her last name from Thornton to Ashton, and in the eyes of the government, was their daughter.

"I don't really feel like you are my parents, though," she laughed.

"I should hope not," Meg said dryly. "I was nine when you were born."

As Leigh and Will laughed along with her, she produced a tissue-wrapped item from under her pillow and held it out to Leigh. "Here."

"What is this?" Leigh asked uncertainly, taking it in her hands.

"It's a gift to celebrate your new name, and new life. Open it!"

Leigh did so, and gasped in delight at pulling out a leather-bound book of blank paper and an elegant fountain pen.

"A place for you to start keeping all your stories," Meg said, smiling.

"Thank you," Leigh said. "Not just for this—for everything." And she hugged them both, and all three of them had to wipe their eyes when they were done.

Leigh opened her new book and uncapped her new pen. She scribbled busily for a moment or two, then proudly displayed it to them. On the very front page was written in bold letters:

"Property of Leigh Ashton."

"Leigh Ashton," she said. "I have a _family_ now."


	26. Chapter 26

Miss Beth continued to insist that the Ashtons treat her home as if it was theirs, and so, Christmas that year saw Matt and Michi happily settled in one of North Wind's other guest rooms, while Shirley, Johnny, and Angharad took over the PA. Auntie Di and Uncle Patrick might have joined them, too, but for the fact that they were spending Christmas at Echo Lodge with Peter, Joss, and Evie. Joss's baby was due any time now (as was Jane and Bran's second—once again the sisters-in-law had managed to match their pregnancies to the week), and Auntie Di wanted to be sure she was there when it happened.

"Peter says he wants another girl," Angharad told Meg. The girls were all gathered in the parlour at North Wind while the men were out ice fishing. Meg had apologised to Natalie and Leigh for boring them with people they didn't know, but she was positively starved for family gossip.

"Jocelyn wants a boy, though, so they can name him after Peter. Uncle Patrick suggested they name it Petra if it's a girl, but Peter said no, if it's a girl they're going to name her for Jocelyn's mother and his: Amelia Diana."

"That's a dreadful name," Natalie blurted, and then covered her mouth guiltily. "Sorry."

Angharad laughed comfortably. "That's what both Jocelyn and Auntie Di say, too. So they're both hoping for a boy, if only to prevent Peter from saddling a helpless child with a name like Amelia Diana Samuels."

"Amelia is a pretty name by itself," Natalie said, "and so is Diana. It's just the combination of the two that's so bad. I hope it is a boy!"

"Have you and Will decided on a name for your little one yet?" Michi asked Meg.

Meg shook her head. "We can't decide. We thought about some of the family names, of course, but we both think we want this child to have a brand-new name, one nobody in the family has carried before." She sighed. "Unfortunately, we still haven't found one we both like."

"It will come to you," Angharad said. "I like names that have a good meaning behind them, myself. 'Angharad' means 'beloved' in my native tongue." She smiled happily.

"Margaret means 'pearl,' I know," Meg said. She looked at the others.

"My name means 'child of beautiful wisdom," Michi said shyly.

"That is lovely," Meg said, smiling at her sister.

"I don't know what Leigh means," that girl said.

"I do," Angharad volunteered. "It's a variant of Leah, which means 'meadow.' I had an English friend during the war, a fellow nurse, named Leah, and she told me that."

"Meadow seems awfully boring compared to your names," Leigh said.

"Oh no," Meg said seriously. "A meadow is peaceful, soothing, a restful place. It's a good name."

Natalie didn't know the meaning of her name, either, and Angharad finally had to hunt down a dictionary and an encyclopaedia to find it out.

"Christmas Day!" she finally reported triumphantly. "Natalie means 'Christmas Day.' Oh, but—you weren't born on Christmas, were you?"

Natalie shook her glossy black head. "No, but I doubt my parents knew the meaning of the name, either. I suspect they picked it just because they liked it."

Angharad "tsk-ed" at that, and Meg laughingly turned the subject back to the family.

"How are Polly and Elliott?"

"They have definitely decided to move—not to England or the States, as they had been talking about, but out West, Alberta or even Saskatoon."

"What will they do out there?"

"Elliott wants to try his hand at ranching. After the war, he gets uncomfortable around too many people, especially in enclosed areas. Living in a small village has been torture for him …"

"Especially when you live with Mrs. Douglas," Meg couldn't help but murmur.

"… and it wasn't any better in Avonlea. I think the travelling back and forth constantly between the two places was difficult on Polly, too, as she never had a place to call her own or a chance to settle down. I think," Angharad finished cautiously, "I think it will be a good move for both of them. Johnny still has friends out West, so he's given Elliott their names, and they ought to be able to help them get established."

"And how does Mrs. Douglas feel about it?" Meg was delighted that her cousin and cousin-in-law were going to take their chances away from all the family and fuss, but slightly apprehensive about said family's reaction.

"Furious, from what I hear, but thankfully they've decided to wait to leave until after Una and Walt's wedding (Davie is going to be their ring-bearer), so she's distracted from scolding them by planning Una's wedding for her."

"And how are Lily and Freddie? Nobody," Meg added plaintively, "tells me anything anymore. All the letters I get are filled with questions as to my health—as if that's half as interesting!"

"The Earl and Countess of Whitmore are doing marvellously well," Angharad said. "Auntie Di says Lily seems born to nobility."

In other family news (Angharad seemed to hear and retain everything, something that helped her fit right in to the Blythe-Meredith-Ford-Samuels clan), Gil Ford was working in Toronto and suspected of seeing Lali Stedman, daughter of Grandmother Blythe's old pupil Jen Pringle Stedman; Anna and Ally Ford were nineteen and two very different individuals, as Anna was maternal and yearned to be married and having children, while Ally was actively pursuing a career as a fashion mannequin; Teddy was sixteen and head of his class. Dee Meredith, though still a bit vain, seemed to be settling down to her education. Bran, Jane, and little Lewis were doing well in Wales, and Bran was near the head of his class, much to his own shock and Jane's pride. Katy Meredith had nearly broken her leg in a wild escapade the previous month and hadn't learned anything from it, and young Gabe Meredith was still the apple of his father's eye and the delight of his mother's heart.

Angharad finished her recitation and smiled ruefully at Natalie and Leigh. "Have we bored you yet?"

"I am in awe that you manage to keep them all straight," Natalie said.

"I'm rather amazed at that myself," Angharad said with pleasure.

* * *

With Miss Beth and Natalie included, it was a delightful family Christmas. Meg was so happy to see Johnny settled down and at ease with himself and the world. The old sullen demeanour, that half-fearful, half-angry look, as though he fully expected you to dislike him, was gone entirely.

Michi, too, had lost most of her timidity. It was a delight to see her call Shirley "Father" and wait on his every whim. Shirley complained to Meg that Matt and Michi were making him old and lazy before his time, because neither of them allowed him to do anything for himself anymore.

The pride in his eyes as he watched his family—two daughters, and two sons—belied his words, though. His precious Cecily's time on earth may have been short, but she left behind a goodly legacy.

And soon—March, God willing—they would be adding another generation to the family. A grandchild … his little Meggie, a mother … it just did not seem possible.

Christmas Eve was spent with laughter and music. Meg was not allowed to sit at the piano, nor could she sing very well from a reclining position (not to mention, as she ruefully confessed to Leigh, that the babe was pressing into her diaphragm so she didn't think she'd ever be able to take a full breath again), so charge of the musical portion of the evening was given over to Leigh. Her boarding school experience had given her a basic musical education, and her voice was quite pleasant. Angharad, like many Welsh, had a good natural ear for song; she carried the harmony to Leigh's melody.

Natalie plied them with cakes and cookies and homemade candies; Michi sat at Shirley feet with Matt's head in her lap and demonstrated her nimble fingers by folding paper into fantastic shapes for them all; Johnny sat by Miss Beth and attended her every need; and Will sat next to Meg on the couch so she could rest her head against his shoulder. As much as she loved being surrounded by her family and dearest friends, she did find that she tired much more easily these days.

In fact, she could not keep her eyes open through the carolling. Will, unable to carry her upstairs by himself, attracted Johnny's attention. That young man easily lifted his cousin and tiptoed with her up the stairs, followed by Will.

"Many thanks," Will whispered after Johnny laid her down on the bed.

Johnny grinned in response and vanished back down the stairs.

Meg's eyes fluttered open as Will tried to tuck her in.

"Is it morning?" she asked drowsily.

Will smiled tenderly at her. "No. Now be a good girl and go to sleep, or Santa won't come."

Meg smiled back. "At least let me change into my pyjamas." As she was changing, she looked closely at her husband. "Are you all right, dearest? You look almost like you're in pain. Natie's treats too rich for you?"

"No; I'm fine, beloved."

Meg's fingers stilled on her buttons. "Will I'm not going to sleep until I get a straight answer. What's troubling you?"

Will sat down next to her on the bed and sighed. "You're very persistent, you know."

Meg leaned over and kissed his nose. "I know."

After a moment, Will said unexpectedly, "Does it ever bother you that I'm a cripple?"

Surprised, Meg said, "Of course not! Will, I hardly ever even notice your missing arm. Does it bother _you_?" They never really talked about Will's injury. It was a fact of life, something to be dealt with, such as Meg's tendency to sunburn if she was out too long on the shore without protection.

"Of course it bothers me, how could it not? When I can't even carry my wife upstairs, but have to rely on someone else to do it for me … Meg, how am I going to help you take care of our child? No wonder your family wanted you to stay at Ingleside …"

"Will, dearest. Why haven't you ever said something about this before?"

Will shrugged. "I didn't want to bother you, especially not now, not when you have to be so careful."

"You manage everything so beautifully with only one arm, that I've truly never even thought of you as struggling. I don't even think of you as a 'cripple,' and I never have. I feel foolish for never having noticed how difficult of a time you really do have with thing."

"I haven't wanted you to see. I never wanted to be treated any differently from any other man. I taught myself how to do things one-handed, how to function. But it doesn't change the fact that there are some things I will never be able to do … it doesn't change the fact that a part of me is missing forever."

Meg buried her face in Will's shoulder. "I wish I knew what to say," she said in a muffled voice. "I always have words for Polly when she needs me, or Natie. Now my own husband is hurting, and I don't know what to do for him."

Will rested his cheek atop her head. "Just keep promising me that you'll always love me, darling. That's the best thing you can do. And reassure me, once in a while, that you're not ashamed of me."

"Never," Meg said fiercely, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him. "Nor will our child ever be ashamed. He or she will be proud of you, Will—just as proud as I am. Proud that you were a good soldier, sacrificing everything for our future. Proud that you're a good minister, truly caring for your people. And proud of you as a husband and father—the best I could ever imagine."

And as they sat together in the dark, Will knew that was the best Christmas present he could ever receive.


	27. Chapter 27

With March's blustery winds and wild rains, Meg's girth increased to the point where she felt near kin to a whale.

"I haven't seen my feet in weeks," she moaned to Leigh and Miss Beth. "I don't even know what my socks look like."

Leigh peeked. "They're clean," she announced solemnly, much to Miss Beth's amusement.

"This will pass," Miss Beth soothed. "And soon you will have a beautiful baby in your arms to make you forget all your troubles."

Meg doubted that she would ever forget the discomfort and downright danger she had experienced in this pregnancy, but she didn't say so aloud. Most days she sincerely hoped that Will would be content with one child, because she couldn't imagine ever deliberately enduring this sort of drawn-out torment again. She was increasingly amazed at Joss and Jane, both of whom were perfectly happy with their new babies (Peter Junior for Joss and Peter, and Robin Diana for Jane and Bran) yet _already_ talking about their next.

She shifted again on the sofa, and Leigh eyed her with concern. "You keep moving about," she said. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Just achy," Meg sighed. "Oh dear, I do hate to keep complaining—it feels like all I ever do these days is whine—but I will be so happy when I am allowed to walk and move about again."

"Your emotions are in turmoil, and that is normal," Miss Beth said. "Nobody here is going to blame you for complaining a little bit."

"I'm only allowed a little?" Meg asked in a weak attempt at humour.

Natalie came in from the kitchen, cheeks flushed from bending over the hot oven, with a white streak of flour across her nose. "I just pulled a batch of rolls out; does anybody want some?"

Leigh jumped up at once. "I do! I'll come help you with them."

"Bring enough for all of us," Miss Beth instructed, and the two girls left the room together. Miss Beth smiled at Meg. "When I think of Natie before you came, or even in those first few months: trying to live up to the reputation Aurore forged for her, flirting with every male she met, freezing everybody out, dying slowly inside … well, Meg, I thank God every day that He sent you and Will to us here!"

"So do I, Miss Beth," Meg said softly. "Not for what we've done, but for what you all have done for us. When we first came, I couldn't think how I would ever be happy here. I had no family nearby, and everything was so very, very different from what I'd always known. Now, I can't imagine my life without you and Natie, and Leigh, and Mrs. Murdoch and Sally, and all our friends here, any more than I can imagine my life without Papa and Matt and Michi and all the rest." She shifted again and rested her hand on her swollen womb. "And this little one, whenever he or she decides to make an appearance."

"Soon, I hope," Will said, entering the room unexpectedly. He bent to kiss his wife. "How are you feeling today?"

"Tired and crabby," Meg said honestly. "But everybody is being very gracious about it."

Will sat next to her and laced his fingers through hers. "You have earned the right to be crabby and tired, darling." He looked up as Natalie and Leigh came in bearing plates of hot rolls exuding a warm yeasty smell. "Mm, just the thing on a day like today!"

"Hello, Will. I thought you were out with Leon and Young Pete checking the ice?" Natalie said, handing Meg a plate and napkin.

Will snagged a roll for himself. "It was a short trip. There's a nasty storm building out there. Ice fishing season will be finished for sure once that moves in. Rain and wind and everything unpleasant, according to Leon."

"He would know," Miss Beth said. "That man has a better nose for weather than a dog."

Meg shivered a little. "A good day to stay inside, where it's warm and dry."

Later, she would wonder if her words had jinxed them, because Will had barely bitten into his roll when someone pounded thunderously on the front door. When Natalie, startled, opened it, Young Pete himself rushed in.

"Reverend," he gasped, ignoring everyone but Will.

Will was on his feet at once. "What is it, Pete?"

"Me old auntie—the one what raised me, and is still living by herself out past the cove—I was visiting her, to see if she needed anything before the storm hit, you know—I like to still check in on her once in a while, as she was so good to me when I was a lad, after me dad, her brother, drank himself to death and me little mum just up and quit living—"

"Pete," Will said with commendable patience, "what's this all about?"

"Me auntie! She's dying, Reverend, she told me so herself. Said she's been ailing all winter, and she knows she's going tonight, and she just wants a minister there to help her make her peace with God. Won't you come, Reverend? Please? She's the only family I got, and she's dying."

"Natalie, call for the doctor," Miss Beth said decisively.

"It won't do no good, Miss Beth," Young Pete said piteously. "I tell you, Auntie knows."

"Nevertheless," Miss Beth said, nodding to Natalie. She left the room at once to use the telephone in the hall.

"Reverend, you'll come, though, won't you?"

Will looked helplessly at Meg. "Mrs. Ashton is so close to her time, Pete—I don't like to leave her without knowing how long it will be before I can get back."

"Go, Will," Meg said.

"Are you certain?"

"Of course." She smiled up at him confidently. "Even if you're at Pete's auntie's until tomorrow, I doubt I'll go into labour between then and now. Besides, she needs you."

Natalie entered the parlour again. "The doctor wasn't happy about leaving his comfortable home to travel all the way out here in weather like this, but I convinced him."

"Will, you and Pete start out now. Natalie, you know where Miss Gautier lives, beyond the cove?" At that girl's nod, Miss Beth continued. "Then you wait here for the doctor and take him along when he arrives. Meg, Leigh and I will wait for you all here."

Will still looked hesitant about leaving Meg, but his sense of duty prevailed, so with a quick kiss, he was struggling back into his sou'wester and wellies to follow the desperately anxious and urgent Young Pete out into the rising storm.

Within half an hour, the doctor had arrived and, still grumbling, followed the collected and competent Natalie out in the men's footsteps.

And half an hour after _that_, with the winds howling and the rain lashing the windows, and when traveling even one step outside the door meant risking one's life, Meg's water broke.

* * *

"I can't—I can't—I can't have this baby now," Meg panted, fingers clutching desperately at Leigh. "I need Will."

"Will will be here as soon as he can," Miss Beth soothed, expertly helping Meg change from her clothes into a clean nightgown. "In the meantime, this child is waiting for no man."

"But the doctor is gone, too," Meg said. In all her life, she didn't think she'd ever been so terrified, not even when she'd watched her brother disappear under water in an ill-advised boating escapade with his cousins back when they were all children. "And we can't possibly get even a midwife or anyone here in this weather!"

"I have assisted at many births," Miss Beth said. "And I'm sure Leigh will be a good helper."

"Don't worry, Meg," Leigh said, her blue eyes wide and fearful even as she tried to be reassuring. "Miss Beth and I will do everything you need. I won't let you down."

Meg nodded and gulped and tried to calm down. She knew, logically, that this babe would come with or without Will, and that panicking would do no good, but with each contraction that gripped her abdomen, fear spiked through her again.

At the moment, with her pains coming hard and fast as she tried to breathe and listen to Miss Beth's instructions to "work with your body, Meg, not against it," all she could think of was her own mother, who had not survived Meg and Matt's birth. Had Cecily felt this kind of terror when her labour started? Or had she been calm, the foreknowledge of her impending death providing her with a resignation, an other-worldly calm?

Meg had wished for her mother many times throughout her life, but never so fervently as she did right now.

"Mama," she moaned, starting to fall into the blackness hovering around the edges of her vision.

"Joanna Margaret!" Miss Beth's sharp tones brought the world into focus again. Then Leigh was there, clutching her hand with all her young strength, holding Meg connected to the world.

"Don't go away, Meg," Leigh said. "Look at me—look at my face. Stay with us, Meg. Breathe. It's going to be all right, you just have to let your body do its work."

Meg focused her attention on those blue eyes that looked so much like her husband's. Somehow, Leigh's calm words and controlled certainty gave her the strength she needed. She released her fears in a long breath, and started paying attention to the rhythm of her contractions, breathing when she needed and resting in between.

Miss Beth nodded approvingly. "Now we will get somewhere."

As though to prove Miss Beth a prophet, it only took another two hours before Meg felt the need to push, and only half an hour after _that_ before Miss Beth caught the small, wailing body in her capable hands and immediately placed it on Meg's chest.

"Oh!" Meg gasped, looking at her child. She had been told often enough that once she held her baby in her arms, she would forget all the discomfort and pain of pregnancy and labour. That, she now found, was not true.

What was true, however, was that in looking into her baby's scrunched-up face as it wailed its displeasure at such a rude introduction to the world, the discomfort, pain, and fears became meaningless. A vivid memory, true, but one that no longer mattered.

"I'm a mother," she whispered. "A _mother_."

As if in affirmation of that miraculous fact, at that moment the clouds cleared away and the moon and stars shone down into the room, illuminating Meg and the child with their silvery glow.

When Will and Natalie stepped into the house first thing the next morning, they were stunned to see Leigh greeting them with a tiny bundle in her arms.

"Good morning," she said with a mischievous smile, holding her arms out to Will. "Would you like to meet your daughter?"


	28. Chapter 28

Will was naturally horrified, at first, that he had missed the baby's birth, but Meg never told him how frightened she had been. Instead she praised Miss Beth and Leigh for their work, and eventually he grew reconciled. It would have been an easier task had Young Pete's old auntie actually been dying, but she had been perfectly fine, and indeed, seemed simply delighted that Young Pete had brought so many people to visit her that night, so she wouldn't have to endure the storm alone. Young Pete had failed to mention to Will that "dear old auntie" was more than a little senile.

"All that, running through the storm, missing my child's birth, not being able to get home until the next day, all on a wild goose chase," Will grumbled to Meg.

She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Never mind, dear. It's all part of the life we've chosen. As you can see, Baby and I are just fine."

"What are you going to name her?" Shirley asked. As soon as he had received word of his grandchild's birth, he had left the farm to Matt and Johnny and come to Grey Harbour, where he was more than happy to spend hours holding the wee girl-child, gazing at her tiny face and marvelling. "You can't just keep calling her 'Baby' for the rest of her life."

"Well, we were going to call her Leigh Beth," Meg said, "since they were so influential in getting her here safely. But then Leigh said it would be too confusing to have two Leighs in the same house."

"So instead," said Will, picking up the tale from his wife, "We left the name choice to Leigh herself. Beth for the middle name—whatever Leigh chooses for the first."

Shirley then turned to Leigh. Uncle Jem had come all the way from Glen St. Mary to check on Meg, and decreed that she ought to stay in bed for another couple of weeks, just to be safe. So Leigh was taking care of all her physical needs, leaving Meg free to just focus on getting strong again and taking care of the baby.

"Well, Leigh? What have you decided?"

She straightened from where she had been folding clothes and placing them in a drawer. "I've thought a lot about it. I don't know all your family names, so I couldn't use any of them. Then I remembered what Angharad had said, about picking names with good meanings. So I started looking up names, and what they mean, and I think I've found one that's both pretty and has a good meaning."

"Well?" Will prompted. "Don't leave us in suspense."

"Audrey," Leigh said. "It means 'noble strength.'" She looked anxiously at the parents. "Do you like it? I know it's old-fashioned, and you don't have to use it if you don't like it …"

"It's perfect," Meg interrupted warmly. She looked at Will with shining eyes. "Isn't it? Audrey Beth Ashton."

"Audrey Ashton. Audrey Beth," Will said. He rose from Meg's side and went over to Leigh to kiss her forehead. "Perfect, it is. Thank you, Leigh."

In her grandfather's arms, the newly-named Audrey Beth Ashton stretched, woke up, and let the world know she was hungry.

* * *

Come April, Meg was able to—finally, finally!—get up and move around, get outside with little Audrey, and start to feel like her old self again.

No—she corrected herself. Not like her old self. She could never return to her pre-Audrey self. For one thing, her body would always retain the stretch marks, the scars, the physical evidence of having born a child. So too had her emotional self changed. No matter how much she recovered, she would never be pre-Audrey Meg again. For now, forever, she was a mother.

Audrey, at a month old, was a delight and a dream. She cried, yes, but never more than seemed reasonable for a baby with no other way of expressing herself. She did not sleep through the night, but was always quite happy to fall asleep as soon as Meg finished feeding her. She was quite willing to be passed from person to person, though she was always happiest tucked in the crook of her papa's arm (who, despite his fears, was a more competent father with one arm than many men were with two).

Indeed, it was a good thing she was such a good-natured baby, else she would have been in danger of being spoiled. After Shirley finally, reluctantly, returned home, North Wind saw a steady stream of other visitors, all ready to adore her: Matt and Michi; Johnny and Angharad (whose name had gotten shortened by the Avonlea folk to a much more pronounceable "Cara"); Peter and Joss and their two (Joss was already scheming to match Audrey and Little Peter up when they were old enough); Polly and Elliott and Davie, taking a break from packing and planning their move; Uncle Bruce and Aunt Betsy and Gabe; Uncle Kip; Grandmother and Granddad Blythe; and finally, astonishingly, Grandfather and Grandmamma Irving.

Meg didn't know what to think when the long, sleek automobile stopped outside North Wind one soft April day, when she, Leigh, Natalie, and Audrey were all outside enjoying the spring sunshine. The doors opened and out stepped Grandfather Irving, tall and stately, his hair completely silvered, his face a bit more lined than when last Meg saw it, but his blue eyes as kind and loving and wise as ever.

Then, to Meg's utter shock (so much so that it was well Leigh was holding the baby, else Meg might have dropped her), Grandmamma followed him out. She had not changed much, either. Her hair was whiter and her face more pinched than Meg remembered it, and she had lost some weight; other than that, the same as ever.

Meg rose to her feet unsteadily. "Why, Grandfather! Grandmamma! Whatever are you doing—I mean, how delightful to see you!"

Rachel Irving did not say much at first. She grimly shook Will's hand and nodded stiffly to Miss Beth and the girls, but when they had discreetly withdrawn and Meg gently placed Audrey in her great-grandmother's arms, the mask cracked, and the tears started to flow.

"Oh," she murmured. "Cecily's granddaughter. Oh Paul."

Grandfather put his arm around her, and the small flame of resentment that had smouldered in Meg's breast ever since Grandmamma's cutting condemnation of Will before the wedding died entirely.

"We thought about naming her Cecily," she offered timidly, suddenly wanting very much to please Grandmamma. "But somehow, we just couldn't. That name belongs to Mama, and always will."

"Audrey Beth is a beautiful name," Grandfather offered, not even seeming to notice the tears coursing down his cheeks.

"Oh Paul, doesn't she look just like Cecily when she was a baby?"

Grandfather looked, opened his mouth, shook his head, closed his mouth, opened it again, and finally said, "Of course, dear." Some of his old spirit shone in his eyes as he winked at Meg and Will.

Meg smiled back. She had heard that claim a hundred times by now: "Doesn't she look like …" If everyone in the family was to be believed, Audrey looked like Shirley, Cecily, Meg herself, Will, Granddad, Uncle Walter, Auntie Nan, and possibly Great-Grandmother Blythe, Granddad's mum. ("Not," Grandmother Blythe said exultantly, "like me. No red hair, thank heavens!")

Personally, Meg thought that one month was too soon to tell which family member the baby resembled most. She was fairly certain that her blue eyes were going to darken to brown, and that the few strands of hair on her head were a deep brown, nearly black. Other than that, only time would tell.

The next hour or so was spent in the usual baby-worship, and then Will strolled inside to put Audrey down for a nap, and, incidentally, leave Meg to talk with her grandparents alone.

"I'm glad you came," Meg said. "I'm sorry we didn't think to invite you ourselves."

"I don't blame you for not," Grandmamma said unexpectedly. "I have been an old fool, Meggie, but thank God He brought me to my senses before I died." She leaned forward, rested her hand on Meg's knee. "I loved my daughter very much—some might say too much. I have been told that I made her an idol, that God took her from me for that reason." She fell silent for a moment. "I hated God for a while, because of that."

"But I told her," Grandfather interrupted, "that even if God were that cruel, He would not have taken Cecily from me, and from Shirley, and from you and Matty, simply for her sin."

Rachel Irving nodded, and looked at her husband with a light that made Meg have a faint glimmer for the first time of why Grandfather fell in love with her in the first place.

"After Cecily passed away, I transferred the love I bore for her to you and your brother," she continued. "You must believe me, darling, I have only ever wanted what was best for you both. It just—I couldn't always remember that what I thought was best, might not truly be so. And I'm sorry," she finished simply.

Meg squeezed the hand that rested on her knee. "I forgive you, Grandmamma. Matt and I, we both love you, you and Grandfather, very much."

"I can't promise I won't ever try to give advice," Grandmamma warned. "I have always been opinionated, and old habits die hard. I will, however, try to accept that you may not always take my advice, if only you'll let me be a part of your lives again—you and Will and Audrey, and even Matty and his foreign wife."

"Michiko," Meg couldn't help stressing. "Of course you may be part of our lives, Grandmamma! I want Audrey to know her great-grandparents, especially as she only has one living grandparent. And I want you to know Will, too. He may not be what you had in mind for me, but I promise, Grandmamma, he is the most wonderful man you could ever imagine."

"If he makes you happy, love, then I already like him."

* * *

_Darling Meg,_

_I am so thrilled for you and your Will at little Audrey's birth, and I might be jealous of how adorable she is (tell your Natalie that she is as fine a photographer as she is painter, and I thank you very much for the snapshots), except that I am expecting a small one myself soon! I have been horribly sick, though not as dangerously ill as you were, just enough to be miserable. I blame it all entirely on Geoff, and he has been an angel to bear with me, which just makes me even crosser with him. Men, especially husbands, especially good ones, can be such a trial._

_Merrill is expecting another child as well, and Connie just wrote to me to tell me that she had Met Someone. Sammy, of course, is still the belle of Boston and quite happily single._

_I am not sure if Geoff and I will make it out this summer, as my wretched stomach rebels at the very thought of travelling, but if we don't see you this year, we will some out as soon as our little darling is born, and then our children can meet and become bosom friends._

_Yours, nauseously,_

_Rose.

* * *

_

_Dear Meg,_

_I am so glad to hear of Audrey Beth Ashton's entry into this world. I wish we could come for a visit and meet her, but travel is out of the question with two little ones, even if it were practical on our budget!_

_Joss and Polly have both written, praising Audrey's virtues to the skies. I will not bore you by repeating those same virtues about my little Robbie. Suffice to say that she is as darling a baby as this Old World has ever seen! If only we lived closer, I'm sure our children would be grand friends. Lewis and Evie, of course, would "boss" the life out of the younger ones, and Audrey and Little Peter and Robbie would play together and torment their older siblings. Oh, and Davie, too, because in this ideal world Polly and Elliott would be living nearby, too. He would be the eldest, always watching out for the little ones, with Lewis tagging along behind him all the time._

_Oh Meg! Sometimes I think it's a shame we all are spreading out so far apart—but then, I wouldn't want to leave England now, and I suppose you feel the same way about Grey Harbour. Although perhaps you don't, as this is a temporary position until Will can get to seminary. Still, I can't see you ever leaving Canada, and I know Joss and Peter are happy as can be at Echo Lodge._

_Did you know that my little sister Lyssa turned twelve this winter? I can hardly believe it myself. It seems just the other day I was twelve myself, running around Lantern Hill with all my chums. And yet, in other ways, since the war, it seems like a hundred years ago. Life has changed! We'll see what kind of a world our younger siblings and children grow up to inherit._

_Give my love to Will and everyone else, and give your Audrey an extra squeeze from _

_Auntie Jane (And Uncle Bran).

* * *

_

_Dear Meg,_

_I am so, so pleased to hear of the safe birth of your baby daughter. Audrey Beth is a lovely name!_

_Spring is advancing well here. I still can't get used to being the mistress of an entire country estate. I did convince Freddie to sell our townhouse, as it just seems wickedly extravagant to me to have two such enormous places to live. He laughs at me, but I think he enjoys having a simple Canadian country doctor's daughter as a wife. I certainly am a change for most of his society friends!_

_Lady Leah and Jack are well, and treat me quite as one of the family. Godwin, their son, is away at school, but I see him on vacation, and we get along very well. Lady Leah has been hinting that it's about time I provided an heir to the Whitmore title, but Freddie has told me he doesn't care in the slightest; Godwin will be a good heir even if we never have children, or only have girls._

_I can't make this any longer, as I have to go talk to Cook about the menu for our dinner party tonight. Freddie is getting interested in politics, and we are hosting some important people tonight, who can be very useful to his career, so everything must be perfect!_

_Love always,_

_Lily.

* * *

_

Meg folded her letters and smiled down at Audrey, lying beside her in the green grass sucking her fist. No matter what changes happened in her life, or how many new friends she made, it was always wonderful to hear from old friends.

Life may be changing around them, but the old bonds held firm, and always would.


	29. Chapter 29

That was an idyllic summer. In later years, Meg would look back on June to August 1947 as some of the sweetest months of her life. Nothing especially wonderful happened, nothing grand made it stand out from other summers, other years; it was just day after day of simple joy. There were the occasional storms, some nights when Audrey wouldn't sleep and Meg wept with frustration, a spat with Will once or twice, but for the most part, it was halcyon days and golden friendship.

The Ashtons were still staying at North Wind, though both Meg and Will protested to Miss Beth.

"I don't need to have other people take care of me anymore," Meg said. "We will be just fine at the PA."

"There are four of us now," Will said. "We can't just expect you to house us forever."

Miss Beth, however, was obdurate. "It's not Natie and I taking care of you, it's you providing companionship for us," she told Meg, and, "There's not enough room at the PA for all four of you," she told Will. "Would you have Leigh and Audrey share a room?"

"Besides," she told them both, "Meg's weekly get-togethers with the women of Grey Harbour will never fit in that tiny house, and it's ridiculous to expect her to walk here with the baby once a week, when you could just as easily stay here."

And so they capitulated, with a certain amount of reluctance, but rather more inner rejoicing. They cleared the Pink Abomination of their belongings, and settled in at North Wind apparently permanently. "Or at least," Will said to Meg, "Until it is time for us to move on."' Neither of them liked to talk about that day, however, despite Will's yearning for seminary; life was too sweet just as it was.

The "For Rent" sign went back up on the PA, and neither Meg nor Will saw their first abode go with any sort of mourning. Meg didn't even sigh once when they closed the door and locked it for the last time. She smiled at Leigh, kissed Audrey, and took Will's hand with a glad heart as they walked back through the village to their new home with Miss Beth and Natalie.

Natalie was kept extremely busy that summer. Her reputation as an up-and-coming artist was well established, and she had more commissions than she could easily manage. She told Meg one day how glad she was that Meg and Will were at North Wind, because she didn't have to feel guilty about neglecting Miss Beth or the house with another woman there to share the load.

Leigh had been head of her class all year, and Will and Meg hoped to send her to Queen's or another preparatory school in another few years. She was an exceptionally bright girl, and the educational standards of the Grey Harbour school were simply not enough for her. They weren't exactly sure how they would pay for it, as they were already saving every penny they could from Will's scanty salary for seminary, but they were determined to do right by their girl.

They never heard anything from any of Will's family. Grandmother Thornton had apparently decided to cut the Ashtons out of the family entirely after Will's defiance of her to bring Leigh home with him. Meg, newly reconciled with her Irving grandparents, felt badly about this, but Will himself didn't care in the slightest.

"Honestly, darling, we're better off without them," he assured Meg. "I'd hate to think of them getting involved, and trying to dictate what we do, and what Leigh does, and how we raise Audrey."

Uncle Kip, however, was a frequent visitor that summer, and often Aunt Una joined him. After every visit, Meg and Will exchanged hopeful smiles, until one never-to-be forgotten July day, when Aunt Una shyly displayed a glittering sapphire on her left hand.

"Kip wanted to get me a diamond," she said, while Meg cried and laughed at once. "But I've never cared for the soulless glitter of diamonds, so I asked for a stone with colour."

"And I told her," Uncle Kip said with a happy smile, "That in that case, a sapphire was the only choice, for how well it matched her eyes."

"Are you going to have a big wedding?" Meg asked.

"Goodness, no," Aunt Una said. "I hate crowds and fuss. No, we'll simply have Bruce marry us at the manse, and have a family luncheon afterward."

"Will you live in Toronto?" Meg knew that Aunt Una had once lived in India, but that was before Meg's time, and now she simply couldn't imagine her delicate aunt anywhere but the Island.

"During the school year," Uncle Kip said. "The summers we'll spend here, at PEI. I'm looking for a place to buy, someplace close to family, but not right in their back pockets." He didn't say, nor did he need to, that Una had lived with either her father or brother all her life (except for those years in India), and it was time she had a home of her own.

"And Katy?" Leigh asked.

"Oh, she'll stay with us," Aunt Una said. "She'll be sad to leave Betsy and Bruce and Gabe, but she's already excited about making new friends in Toronto. I think it would be harder on her to go if it weren't for the fact that we'll be coming back every summer."

Meg and Will hugged each other in glee after the engaged couple left that day, and congratulated themselves on their small part in bringing them together,

"For," Will pointed out, "if we hadn't become friends, and then fallen in love, who knows if Uncle Kip would ever have had anything to do with your family at all."

"Not to mention that I was the one who first discovered his connection with Uncle Walter, back when he was my teacher," Meg said (even the mildest of people cannot always keep from a little harmless boasting). "And if that had never come to light, he never would have visited the Glen, and never would have met Aunt Una at all!"

The rest of the family was equally delighted, for they all adored their Una, and one and all thought Kip Ashton a "capital fellow." If Aunt Rilla shed a few sentimental tears in private over her beloved Walter's memory, she had enough sense in her to know that she was being foolish, and to only show her happiness to Una's face. And if Aunt Faith sighed over the thought of losing her sister for nine months out of the year, she kept that selfish thought to herself and immediately set about helping Una plan the luncheon.

The teachers at the Glen St. Mary school rejoiced whole-heartedly when they learned that Katy Meredith was going to be leaving them to tyrannise Toronto teachers, and her schoolmates mourned over how dull classes were going to be now without her.

That summer, too, another member of the clan became engaged. Gil Ford proposed to Lali Stedman, who accepted happily. Grandmother Blythe shook her head over how entangled her roots had become, with her grandson marrying the daughter of Jen Pringle whom she had taught in her younger days, and Jane wrote to Meg that Gil's life was never going to be dull, now, for Lali was the most effervescent and energetic person she had ever known.

And in Grey Harbour, little Audrey Ashton continued to grow in beauty and joy. She was doted on by all the villagers; even hardened old fishermen who never thought of babies as anything but squalling nuisances couldn't keep from smiling at her little face always poking out of the Japanese obi baby carrier Michi had made for Meg to wear.

Polly was dubious about the contraption, when she had first seen it. "Everyone says that carrying your baby constantly will only spoil her," she said. "Why don't you just get a nice baby carriage? I have one I used with Davie I'd be happy to lend you."

Meg wouldn't have hurt Michi's feelings for the world by not using her generous gift, though, and after the first few times she used it, she loved it. It was so much more convenient than always having to push a carriage around; it was beautiful in the rich colours and pattern Michi had used; and Audrey herself loved always being able to snuggle close to Mama (or Papa, as Will was more than happy to scandalise people who felt fathers should be loving but distant by taking Audrey everywhere with him).

"Will and I have never listened to what 'everybody' says about anything," Meg laughed to Polly. "So why should we start now?"

* * *

It was, all in all, a perfectly delightful summer, marred only by their concerns for Miss Beth's health. She was growing steadily weaker, though both she and Natalie refused to admit it (Miss Beth out of stubbornness, Natalie out of fear), and Meg and Will, in their most honest moments with each other, acknowledged that she could not be with them for too many more summers.

But for now, they were all there, they were happy, and life was good.


	30. Chapter 30

Shortly after Meg and Will's second anniversary (Miss Beth gave them some beautiful monogrammed linens for "cotton"; Leigh and her school friends gave them a lovely "double wedding ring" quilt (the secret project they had been working on for so long during their weekly meetings); and Natalie cooked them a special meal), Will received a telegram from a solicitor's office in New Brunswick, informing him that his grandmother, Jane Preston Thornton, had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, and requesting that he would visit their office at his earliest convenience.

"What does a New Brunswick solicitor have to do with your English grandmother?" Meg asked once she and Will recovered from the shock.

"He must be the Canadian branch of her English solicitors," Will said absently. "But what on earth does he want with me? I thought Grandmother had disowned me entirely."

"The easiest way to find out would be to go to his office," Miss Beth said dryly.

Will frowned. "I've half a mind to ignore it completely," he said. "We've too many things happening here. Why should I take a long journey like that, only to be told that I remained cut off? Likely she left me some family curse."

"Oh no, Will, you have to go," Meg said. "She was your grandmother, after all. And maybe there is something of your mother's that is being passed to you now."

"I tell you what you should do," Miss Beth said. "You both, and Audrey, should go. When was the last time you went away together?"

"We went to the Glen last month for Aunt Una and Uncle Kip's wedding," Meg said.

Miss Beth raised an eyebrow. "Visiting family for a wedding is not exactly the same thing as going away together. Leigh won't mind staying here with Natie and me, will you, dear?"

Leigh shook her head. Never having known either her mother or grandmother, she was unaffected by news of the latter's death. "I agree with Miss Beth," she said. "If Audrey was older, I'd suggest leaving her, too, so you two could pretend you're newlyweds again."

Meg and Will looked at each other and smiled. "You talked me into it," Will announced. "We'll go."

* * *

One week later, Will and Meg and Audrey were waiting in the stuffy outer room of Banks & Jones, Solicitors at Law. They had decided to get the legal business over with first, so they could enjoy the rest of their small vacation unencumbered. They amused themselves by playing "peek-a-boo" with Audrey, who shrieked in delight every time, until a small, drab clerk entered and said,

"Mr. Jones will see you now." He cast a sour look at the gurgling seven-month-old as they rose to follow him, but Will put a protective arm around his wife and child and glared defiantly at the little man until the other turned aside.

Meg smiled. Her mild-mannered Will could turn quite fierce, she had found, when he felt anyone was threatening or insulting to his family.

Mr. Jones, Senior, was a very different man from his clerk. Tall, round, with a loud voice and perpetual grin that never wavered even through the legal conversation, he pronounced himself "tickled" that Will had brought "the wife and kid along."

"After all, this affects all of you, eh?"

"What, exactly, affects us all?" Will said, getting right to the point. He had taken an instant dislike to the clerk, but an even greater dislike to the oily Mr. Jones.

Mr. Jones bandied around a few more pleasantries, but finally got down to business.

"Your grandmother's will, Mr. Ashton."

Will raised his eyebrows. "I understood Grandmother had disowned me."

"Well, that's not my affair. Perhaps she did in life, but she left all her belongings to be equally divided between her children, and any offspring of her deceased children. You, and your adopted ward Miss Leigh Ashton, are equal beneficiaries under her will with the rest of your family—your living aunt and uncle, and the children of your Uncle Charles. You each get one-fifth of her estate."

That didn't mean much to Meg, but she saw Will's eyes widen and heard his intake of breath, and suddenly understood that in the space of a moment, they had gone from barely scraping by to being—if not actually wealthy, then very close to it.

"Your uncle, Mr. Frank Thornton," Mr. Jones continued, "wrote to suggest that you and Miss Ashton take your share of the inheritance in liquid assets, as opposed to a portion of the family business. That would come to approximately—" and he named a sum that made Meg gasp.

Mr. Jones smiled patronisingly. "It is a pretty number, isn't it?"

Will was quite pale. "Thank you, Mr. Jones. I will have to discuss this with my wife, and obviously I cannot speak for Leigh. I will let you know by the end of the week what I have decided."

Mr. Jones' smile wavered slightly, and he looked somewhat put out at being dismissed so abruptly, but as Will had already risen to his feet and gathered Audrey in his arm, the solicitor had no choice but to acquiesce. He rose with them, shook Meg's hand, tried not to look too obviously at Will's missing arm, and called for the mousy clerk to show them out.

Neither Meg nor Will said a word until they were back at their hotel. Meg fed Audrey mechanically, and then they laid her down for a nap. Only when her chubby cheeks had relaxed into sleep did Meg walk over to where Will was sitting by the window, staring absently out at the view, and put her arms around him.

"Darling?" she asked softly.

His hand came up and gripped hers hard.

"What does this mean for us, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Will confessed. He twisted around to look at her. "For one thing, it means we don't have to worry anymore about how to pay for Leigh's education. Or Audrey's when her time comes, for that matter."

"Or … seminary?" Meg suggested shyly.

A spark lit deep in Will's blue eyes. He had cheerfully put aside his dream to marry Meg early, and had never regretted it for a moment. He had seen it recede further yet when Leigh came to live with them, and then again when Audrey was born. Through all that, he had deliberately put it in the back of his mind and heart, refusing to allow himself to dwell on it. Now, though, to see it suddenly go from "someday" to "now," he didn't quite know what to think.

He wriggled his shoulders as though shaking off the seriousness. "In any case, it means we can bring home presents for everyone," he said with a grin. "Shall we wake Audrey and go shopping?"

Meg threw up her hands in mock horror. "A man suggesting shopping? The world has turned upside down!"

Will kissed her soundly. "And a new dress for you, and a romper for Audrey, and a steak dinner for us for supper tonight. And for me … books."

Meg capitulated, handing him Audrey's obi. "I have married the most amazing man in the world," she announced to the air as he expertly tied the ends one-handed and slipped the sleeping baby inside without ever waking her.

Will kissed her again. "The most amazing man in the world still pales in comparison to you, Mrs. Ashton."

* * *

Great was the surprise back at North Wind when Meg and Will arrived back laden with gifts and bursting with news. Leigh's mouth formed a perfect "o" when she heard how much money she now had.

"Technically, since you are still underage, you won't receive control over it until you are twenty-one," Will told her, "but it is yours." He grinned. "I promise, I won't embezzle your portion. What I have is more than sufficient."

Will and Meg had agreed to the division of assets his Uncle Frank had suggested, as Will had no desire to have any connection to the Milton business whatsoever, and Leigh, when she heard of it, said that she would do the same.

"And what are your plans now?" Miss Beth asked. "Will you leave Grey Harbour for seminary?"

Natalie had been cooing over Meg's stylish new outfit, which was the very latest fashion, with a fitted jacket and a full, calf-length skirt. Meg had felt positively wicked buying something with so much fabric in it ("You could make three skirts from the one!" she had protested), but Will insisted that for once in her life, she buy something without worrying about the cost. It was a pale peach in colour, and Meg had felt like Grandmother Blythe must have over the brown gloria of family lore the moment she put it on—that she had never worn anything so lovely in all her life (except, perhaps, her wedding suit).

Now, though, the clothing was utterly forgotten as Natalie's jaw dropped. "Leave?" she squeaked.

Will wouldn't quite meet her eyes. "We haven't decided yet," he said.

"Oh," Leigh said quietly, realising what that meant for her, too. She quickly picked up Audrey and kissed her fuzzy head.

Meg saw the dismay on both their faces and spoke up gently. "We've always been planning on seminary, you know. This—Grey Harbour—was never intended to be permanent."

"Yes, but—I just didn't think you'd be leaving so soon," Natalie said. She blinked her eyes and suddenly joined Leigh in snuggling the oblivious baby.

"You ought to decide quickly," Miss Beth said quietly. "If you leave for wherever you're going soon, you could start classes in the spring."

"What about the church?" Natalie said.

"I won't just up and leave without warning," Will said, sounding unusually impatient. "Of course I would let everybody know in advance, and do my best to find a replacement minister."

"Would we ever come back?" Leigh asked in a small voice. "After seminary, I mean?"

"It's not likely, Leigh," Meg said, seeing that Will wouldn't—or couldn't—answer. "We would probably have to move on to a new place, a new church."

Leigh nodded mutely.

"Look, I haven't decided anything yet," Will said in exasperation. "You needn't all act as though we were going to disappear tomorrow."

"Quite right," Miss Beth said briskly. "And there's no point in spoiling your homecoming, and the extraordinary blessing of your new fortune, with gloom. I recommend we not talk about this at all until Will is ready to tell us his decision."

Natalie looked rebellious, and Leigh subdued, but both nodded, and Meg nodded in gratitude at Miss Beth.

* * *

Meg herself wasn't sure how she felt about leaving Grey Harbour. She had always known this wasn't to be their permanent home, but that knowledge had not kept her from loving it just the same. From when they had first arrived and she was convinced she could never feel at home, she had come to put down so many roots it would hurt grievously to tear them up.

On the other hand, this was Will's dream, and she would never ask him to abandon it. And if they were going to leave sometime, she supposed it would be better to do it sooner, rather than later, when they were even more firmly established.

Besides, they couldn't keep living as Miss Beth's permanent house-guests forever. Much as Meg adored living there at North Wind, she was starting to want her own place, a place that she could imprint with her personality, hang the walls with their family pictures, invite people to come visit without first clearing it with the house's owner. She loved North Wind—still thought of it as The House, the most perfect home she knew next to Green Gables—but it wasn't _theirs_.

And yet—to leave Miss Beth, that wisest of mentors! To say goodbye to Natalie, her dear friend, almost a sister! To go away from the Island itself, knowing that they would be lucky to see the family once a year at reunions, instead of managing to work in regular visits!

Oh, it was hard, and she was glad the choice was not left up to her. She could never decide, and could only determine within herself to support Will in whatever he did.

And so, when he grimly announced after supper one night that he had decided to send out his application to several divinity schools, she was able to smile at him and tell him that she thought that was wonderful, even though Natalie fled the dining room with a cry and Leigh had to quickly raise her napkin to her mouth.

Miss Beth didn't say anything at all, just smiled lovingly at them out of her wise eyes.


	31. Chapter 31

It didn't take long before they were in the throes of preparation for seminary. It didn't happen as quickly as Miss Beth had initially suggested: by the time Will's applications were accepted it was already December, and far too late to try to choose which school he wanted and move in time for the spring semester. Meg was secretly relieved she would at least have another spring at Grey Harbour; now that the decision had been made to leave, she was nearly overwhelmed with regret.

Will narrowed his choices down to two: a branch of the University of Toronto, or the religious department at McGill, in Montreal. Meg wasn't sure which she preferred. Toronto would mean being close to Uncle Kip and Aunt Una, as well as Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken, but Montreal was such a French city, and she felt drawn to that community after her time in Grey Harbour among so many Acadians. Montreal was also home to the Giraud family, and while she and Hawk no longer kept in contact, she was still very fond of his family and even wrote the occasional letter to his mother.

Will couldn't decide, either. The acceptance letters were on the chest of drawers by their bed, and every night he looked at them, shook his head, and looked away. January and February passed, and he still hadn't decided. March arrived, and Audrey's first birthday, and the letters were still in place.

Audrey's birthday provided a lovely interlude in the midst of all this stress and worry. She was a beautiful child, even to less prejudiced eyes than Will and Meg's. Her baby blue eyes had darkened to a rich brown, a shade darker than Meg's own; deep brown ringlets clustered all over her little head; her skin was as white as though she had not been born and raised by the sea and spent most of her hours in the sun and salt air. Meg couldn't for the life of her compare her to anyone in the family (although she had been blessed with the Shirley nose, a gift that, sadly, had passed Meg by). Uncle Kip, however, said she was the image of Will's mother Eleanor, who was herself the image of her grandmother, the one who shared Meg's name: Margaret Hale Thornton.

Audrey was a fairly sedate little child, toddling through her world quite confidently and calmly, taking everything in her stride. She still adored her papa, and her mama was her second favourite. She was queen of her little world, and well she knew it. Meg wondered how she would feel when she was suddenly uprooted and transplanted to a new place. She tried to reassure herself with the thought that babies adapt much easier than adults, but like all mothers, she still fretted.

Shirley, Matt, Michi, Grandmother and Granddad Blythe, and Grandmamma and Grandfather Irving all converged on North Wind for Audrey's birthday. Grandmamma had brought, in Meg and Will's opinion, far too many expensive and unnecessary presents for a one-year-old, but aside from that, it was a delightful time. Grandmother was, and had always been, very fond of Grandfather Irving, and they had a lovely time reminiscing. Shirley was reluctant to allow anyone else to hold Audrey all day, and Meg felt another pang, knowing that very soon he would only see his granddaughter rarely.

Matt and Michi were not planning on starting their family until Michi was a bit older, as she confessed to Meg with a blush, and Johnny and Angharad were also still childless. Peter and Joss's two were in and out of Tanglewood constantly, but Meg knew it wasn't the same as having grandchildren (or adopted grandchildren, as Johnny was still Auntie Nan and Uncle Jerry's, despite how much as he seemed like another brother) of one's own.

* * *

In May, Meg couldn't take it any more. She and Leigh had been packing, or trying to. Audrey was getting into everything, an inquisitive little thing who seemed to move faster than the two of them combined. Will still hadn't settled on either school, and was growing increasingly (and unusually) irritated at anyone who questioned him about it. Uncle Bruce had been looking for a new minister for Grey Harbour, which filled all of them with gloom, but most especially Natalie, who had been withdrawn and snappish ever since Will announced his decision to leave. She was banging around in the kitchen in supper preparation, making it as loud as she could. Miss Beth, also unusually, complained of a headache and retired to her room.

When Audrey tripped into an open box and burst into surprised tears, Meg found herself in tears as well. She plucked Audrey out of the box, dropped her in Leigh's sympathetic arms, and fled out of the house, down to the shore.

There, she found Natalie's favourite rocky cove and sat and allowed herself the luxury of a hearty cry. She hadn't half finished when she felt a familiar touch on her shoulder.

"Now then," her husband murmured, sitting down next to her and gently pressing her head onto his shoulder, "what's this all about?"

Meg sniffed. "I can't tell you," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because—because I'm a bad wife."

Will's mouth twitched, but he kept his voice level. "I think I should be the judge of that."

And Meg was tired enough, and frustrated enough, that she actually told him. "I don't want to leave," she wept. "I love it here—I love the people, and Miss Beth, and Natie. Oh Will, I'd even go back to the PA if it meant that we could stay. I know we always said this was only temporary, but I just—can't—bear—to leave!"

"And how does this make you a bad wife?" Will's voice gave away nothing of his thoughts.

"Because—because this is your dream, and I'm supposed to be supportive, and I want to be supportive, and I want this for you, but …"

Meg was startled out of her lament by a hearty laugh and sound kiss.

"What?"

Will shook his head, still laughing. "Oh, my dearest, most beloved wife." He kissed her again. "We're not leaving."

"What?" Meg pulled back to stare at her husband in shock.

Will was smiling sunnily, more cheerful than he had been in months. "I decided last night, and was only waiting to be certain until I talked to you. Why do you think it has been so hard for me to decide which school I wanted?"

"I don't know." Meg was still dazed.

"I just figured it out myself. Meg, it's because I don't _really_ want to leave, either."

"But … your dream …"

"Maybe, someday, I can complete my formal education. But Meg, what we have learned here, these last few years, how we have grown—why, we couldn't have gotten that in any university! This is where we belong, and this is where we'll stay until the Good Lord moves us on."

Meg flung herself into his embrace. "Oh, _Will_!"

* * *

When Meg and Will walked back, hand-in-hand, to North Wind, and shared their new decision, great was the rejoicing. Leigh burst into happy tears; Natalie's smile broke through like the sun shining through the tempest, and she grabbed Meg and Leigh and whirled them into an impromptu dance; Miss Beth declared her headache gone entirely and kissed them all; even Audrey threw aside her baby dignity and danced a little jig with Papa.

The people of Grey Harbour, who had been grimly resigned to losing Reverend and Missus, broke out of their shell, too, hosting a clambake and bonfire that Friday night down on the main shore. Meg, Will, Audrey, and Leigh were the honoured guests, seated in the prime positions around the fire, served clams and chicken and roasted potatoes and carrots and lemonade until they nearly burst, and treated to an exhibition of all the villagers' talents: Young Pete was a surprisingly talented fiddler, and Mrs. Murdoch had been a locally famous dancer in her youth, and Mrs. Callum played the harmonica … the evening wore on with laughter, good food, and friendship, and Meg and Will silently wondered how they ever could have thought of leaving these beloved people.

At the end, as a thank-you for their efforts, Meg allowed herself to be persuaded to sing something for them. She rose to her feet and thought for a moment, trying to decide which dong would best express her emotions. In the end, she could think of none better than that beloved and ancient hymn known practically around the world. Opening her mouth, she let the words and melody pour forth, rising to the starlit skies and beyond:

_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,_

_That saved a wretch like me._

_I once was lost, but now am found,_

_Was blind, but now I see._

_Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,_

_And grace my fears relieved._

_How precious did that grace appear,_

_The hour I first believed._

She continued through the rest of the verses, and when she was finished, there was not a dry eye along the shore, except perhaps Audrey's, who was fast asleep with her curly head pillowed in her papa's lap.


	32. Chapter 32

Meg and Will began looking for a house of their own, one they could buy. "For," Meg explained firmly to Miss Beth, "If we are going to stay here in Grey Harbour for good, we need our own house; we simply cannot keep living off of you."

And Miss Beth saw that in Meg's eye which silenced even her—at least temporarily.

Unfortunately, it was not so simple to find an appropriate house. Grey Harbour was small, and there was not a plethora of empty houses. Will was starting to think that they'd have to buy the PA outright, tear it down, and build an entirely new house in its place, which seemed a ridiculous amount of work, but what was one to do? They had to live _somewhere_.

In July, Miss Beth called them to her one evening after a fruitless day of searching.

"I have a proposition to make," she began crisply.

"I know that you children want a home of your own, and I applaud that. However, I am growing old, and will not be at North Wind much longer. No," seeing Meg open her mouth to protest, "no arguments, please. It is a fact of life, and it is foolish to try to ignore the facts.

"I had planned to leave North Wind to you two in my will, trusting that you would do right by Natie and let her stay on as long as she needed or wanted. However, I don't want to wait until you have found or built your own place and then burden you with two homes. So, this is my plan:

"We will hire someone to build a small cottage here on the property, and I will move into that. I will sign North Wind over to you, and you will make this your home. That way I still have my privacy, but will be close enough to enjoy your company for the last few years of my life, and you can start making this yours."

She folded her hands together in her lap and looked at them piercingly. "What do you think?"

Meg and Will exchanged glances, and then Will nodded and Meg rose from her seat to kiss Miss Beth. "We should argue, should insist that you at least let us buy North Wind, but we won't shame the gift or the giver by cheapening your generous offer. We accept, darling Miss Beth, and we thank you with all our hearts."

"Bless you, my dear, this is purely selfish on my part. I've grown too fond of you to let you leave, even if it is just to another part of the village!"

Will hired some of the local men to begin work on Miss Beth's cottage the very next day. Though she insisted she wanted to pay for the cottage herself, Will overrode her for once, saying that would be their way of showing their appreciation for everything she had done for them. Even Miss Beth was not proof against such an argument.

Leigh ecstatically began planning how she was going to decorate the room that was now irrevocably hers, and Meg went into the brown and green nursery and rejoiced that this was to be the nesting place for her babies. For Meg, even Meg, was starting to think about increasing their family again! She was in no hurry, but as Audrey was getting bigger she couldn't help but think a little brother or sister for that girl would be a very nice thing.

Natalie, though she wouldn't confess it, was relieved to think that her home would not be lost after Miss Beth's passing.

"In fact," Meg said, "Miss Beth and I already talked, and we both think that, if you want it, the cottage can be yours once … once she no longer needs it. That way you can have your privacy, too."

Natalie pressed her hand in wordless gratitude, blinking back the tears at the knowledge that she was never going to be left alone again.

By September, Miss Beth's little house (jokingly dubbed "North Breeze" by Will) was complete, and she moved in, ceremoniously handing the keys to North Wind to Meg.

"Not," she said with her dry smile, "that you'll need them, since we never lock our doors."

Meg hugged her. "And that is one tradition that we will most certainly continue—our doors will always be open to anyone who has need."

That night, after Audrey was asleep in her crib in the nursery, and Leigh and Natalie had retired to their respective rooms, Meg and Will roamed the house—now Their House—together. They stopped in the kitchen, and Meg imagined all the meals she and Natalie would cook together, laughing and sharing memories. She would teach her children to cook here, passing down Susan Baker and Marilla Cuthbert's recipes that had been in their family for generations now.

In the dining room, Will pictured hosting company, with him sitting at the head of his own table. Not fancy feasts, as they would have had to do if he had become a city minister, but meals flavoured with laughter, seasoned with good conversation.

The parlour they peopled with all the friends they had made: Meg's weekly circle of ladies; people seeking counsel from Reverend; and any others who would come to find their home a sanctuary.

They saw the guest rooms filled with sleeping bodies, friends and family whom they loved well; Matt and Michi and the children they would someday have, Audrey's cousins; Shirley visiting so often one guest room would eventually be called "his" room. Polly and Elliott, perhaps, come from their home out west where they would find each other's heart eventually. Peter and Joss and their brood, Bran and Jane come from across the sea. Rose and Geoff and their family, perhaps someday, even, Samantha and Connie and Merrill from Meg's school days. Johnny and Cara, certainly. With a life so rich in friends and family, they now had a place to offer them.

The nursery they saw provided with companions for Audrey, more little curly heads to snuggle on the pillows. A house full of children was a house full of love and hope, Granddad Blythe always said.

They paused outside Leigh's and Natalie's rooms. Who knew what dreams nestled in the hearts of those occupants? Leigh would be able to go to college someday, pursue her dream of becoming a writer, and always have a place to return to. Natalie need never leave again; she had a home forever, now, and the family she'd always wanted.

Every room saw a dream, a hope. The couple ended on the front porch, where Meg nestled in Will's embrace and rested her shining head on his chest.

Their home. Their future. This, their place in the world. Here, listening to the sound of the sea, they were at peace.

_The End

* * *

_

_**Author's Note**_: And so I come to the end of this final novel in Meg's saga. I have mixed feelings about it—I am sad to say goodbye (for now, at least) to Meg and Will and all their acquaintances, but pleased to have completed this series. From Shirley to Di to Meg's childhood, through her school years, and now this, the beginning of her married life ... it has been quite the journey.

Many, many thanks to faithful friends and reviewers **Busy Nothings** and **Ruby Gillis**. This story is dedicated to you two. And thanks also go to **Anom**, whomever you are; your reviews have been either really good for my self-esteem or bad for my ego, and either way, I'm grateful.

I found inspiration for this story in a number of other books: namely **Anne's House of Dreams** (by Montgomery herself); **Betsy's Wedding** (Maud Hart Lovelace); **The Second Violin** (Grace S Richmond); and any of the **Fairacre** or **Thrush Green** books (Miss Read). Also, I borrowed characters from a few other places as well: Will's great-grandparents are from **North and South** by the incomparable Elizabeth Gaskell; Rose and Geoff are descendants of characters in Susan Coolidge's **Katy Did** series; Aunt Betsy, though she only appears briefly in this story, is the titular character in Dorothy Canfield Fisher's **Understood Betsy**. The characters sprinkled in from LMM's other books I'll leave to you to figure out.

Thank you again to all who have followed Meg's journeys. It has been quite the ride!


End file.
